


Missed Chances

by Redgillan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 13 Going On 30 Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, POV Second Person, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Underage Drinking, if youre reading this as a bucky x reader story, is youre reading this as a steve x reader story, or fluff with a sad ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgillan/pseuds/Redgillan
Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year-old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All right! I'm really excited to write this one, mostly because there will be a lot of awkward 13 yo Steve stuck in 30 yo Steve and let me tell you... 30 yo Steve is the worst aaaaah can't wait for you all to read this :'D
> 
> Warnings: Underage Drinking, Brock Rumlow is a piece of shit  
> 1,989 words  
> if you're wearing braces or if you're chubby, I'm so sorry I put those jokes in there. They're only here to show you how dumb Rumlow is.

 

**2001**

 

The school year was finally coming to an end and Steve Rogers couldn’t wait to go home and do nothing for the next two months. No more assignments, heavy backpack, nagging mother and detention until September.

_The dream!_

He finished emptying his locker and, occasionally, threw glances at you from across the hall. Bucky rolled his eyes as he walked over to his friend.

“I have some bad news for you, pal,” Bucky said once he was close enough to speak. “You look like a total creep. This little crush of yours is getting old. Ask her out!”

Closing his locker with more force than necessary, Steve glared at him. “You’re not funny.”

“Not trying to be,” Bucky replied, adjusting the strap of his Eastpack backpack as he hurried after Steve. “Seriously, though, you should invite her to your birthday party.”

“I’d have to ask my mom.”

With a little grin, Bucky slung his arm over Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sure your ma’ won’t mind.”

As they walked through the school doors, a feeling of relief came over them. Summer vacation was finally here! Outside, the kids were chatting excitedly about their plans for summer while they waited for their parents to pick them up.

It was a beautiful day, so instead of taking the school bus, they decided to walk home. While they waited for the pedestrian light to turn green, Bucky saw you walking toward them.

He gave Steve a subtle nudge and tilted his head in your direction. Steve’s eyes grew large, but he tried to remain cool.  

Bucky greeted you with a bright smile and you shyly looked away before you mumbled ‘ _hello_ ’ in return. You were a little uncomfortable around him these days because, unlike you, he had perfect teeth.

Lately, your parents had taken you to the orthodontist where you spent an hour sitting in an uncomfortable leather chair while the dentist fastened braces onto your teeth. And as stupid as it seemed for you to be jealous of Bucky’s perfect teeth, you were only a kid.

You were a self-conscious twelve-year-old girl who wanted to look like the girls in the magazines.

And looking like a human zipper wasn’t the only downside. Your braces were so expensive that your parents couldn’t afford to go on vacation.

“Hey, I heard you were staying here this summer,” Bucky spoke enthusiastically, ignoring Steve’s dirty look. “This means you’ll finally be able to attend one of Steve’s legendary parties.”

“Legendary,” you repeated with an amused snort. “I thought you guys just watched movies and ate your weight in candies.”

“Yeah, we’re pretty wild,” Steve sighed. He glanced at you and gave you a small grin. “So, um, you’re in?”

“Sure thing, Steve,” you said sweetly, hoping your feelings for him weren’t obvious.

And they were obvious, but not to Steve because that boy was too infatuated to notice anything. Bucky, on the other hand, saw the way your face lit up when Steve was around. He wanted to see his best friends happy, but you were both too shy to make a move.

The first few weeks of summer passed by in a blur, each day the same as the one before. They mostly stayed indoors, watching TV and waiting for something exciting to happen.

One afternoon, you dragged them to the park where you ate lunch and played games. The grass pollen made Steve’s eyelids itch and his Irish skin wasn’t used to the sun, but he didn’t care because you looked so happy and carefree.

Steve was a short guy with bony shoulders and thin legs, but his eyes were his most striking features. They were a pale blue with long eyelashes and bushy eyebrows. He could look quite grim sometimes, but when he smiled, his whole face changed.

On the fourth of July, Steve had invited a few friends over for his birthday. He didn’t have a lot of friends so his mother was delighted when he told her it wasn’t just Bucky this year.

She had just finished baking his favourite cake when her pager rang. She groaned at loud, not even bothering looking at the caller. Steve looked up when he heard the all-too-familiar sound of her pager.

She was a nurse and she often worked odd hours, but they had promised not to call her unless it was an emergency. Steve frowned as he watched her rush around the room, collecting clothes that looked clean and her car keys.

“Do you really have to go?” he asked, his voice small. “You promised-”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” She squatted down in front of him and pushed his hair out of his face to see his beautiful eyes. “I know you’re upset, sweetheart, but people need my help.”

“I know,” he replied with a sad sigh. “Go.”

“I love you, honey.” She kissed his forehead before she rushed out of the house.

Mrs Rogers wasn’t the kind of woman who let a bunch of thirteen-year-old kids unsupervised, so she asked her old neighbour to watch the kids while she was gone.

You arrived with Bucky since you were living on the same street. While you waited for Mrs Jarvis, the three of you sat on the sofa where Steve explained that his mother had to go to work.

Steve spent the rest of the afternoon watching TV with his two best friends and a sleepy Mrs Jarvis. It was nice to be together and relax. Bucky cracked a few jokes and you all laughed around a mouthful of cake.

At around five, someone knocked at the door and you shared a look with Bucky when Steve enthusiastically jumped to his feet.

“I can’t believe they’re here,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. He looked at himself in the mirror and fixed his hair.

“Who?” you asked with a frown.

“Brock Rumlow and his friends!”

You fought the urge to curl your lips in disgust and to roll your eyes as you set your empty plate on the coffee table. You hated Brock. He was the most popular kid in school and everyone seemed to adore him, but he was just a bully.

And Steve, who was famous around school for picking up fights with bullies, didn’t seem to notice that Brock was one of them. Steve wanted to be accepted, he wanted to be like  _the cool kids_.

“You invited Brock Rumlow to your birthday party?” Bucky asked, confused. “Are you insane?”

“Why?” Steve said, crossing his arms. “Brock is my friend.”

“He locked you in your locker, Steve!” Bucky exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, more than once,” you added. “He’s not your friend, he’s a moron!”

Somehow Mrs Jarvis was still asleep and Rumlow kept banging on the door. Steve let out a frustrated sigh and opened the front door. You fidgeted in your seat, not prepared to see Brock and his friends.

“Hey, look who’s here!” Brock exclaimed as he stepped into the living room. “It’s Braceface and Chubby!”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky sink into the sofa, trying to disappear. He knew he was a little chubby for his age, but there was nothing wrong with that.

You also hated the name Braceface, but you kept your mouth shut, you didn’t want to start a fight. It was Steve’s birthday after all.

When Brock set a six-pack of beer on the kitchen counter, Bucky tried to wake Mrs Jarvis up, to no avail. Steve looked like he wanted to say something, but he was afraid that if he did, Brock and his friends would leave.

They all grabbed a beer and went down the stairs into the basement while you stayed in the living room with Bucky.  

“Thought there’d be more girls at your party, Rogers,” Brock mumbled as he flopped down on an old bean bag.

Steve fiddled with his unopened bottle of beer while the rest of them chugged down half the bottle in one go. He wondered what you and Bucky were doing.

Brock must have noticed the stricken look on Steve’s face because he nudged one of his friends and gave him a conspirator’s smile. They laughed quietly before Brock cleared his throat, catching Steve’s attention.

“This party blows,” he said. “You know what would make it more interesting?” Steve shook his head. “A little game.”

“A game?” Steve repeated.

“Yeah,” Brock fought back a laugh, “have you ever played Seven Minutes in Heaven?”

“No,” he said quietly.

Steve swallowed hard, his hands tightening around the beer bottle. He had never played that game, but he knew it involved sharing a closet with someone else for seven minutes. The two players could either talk, kiss or make out if they wanted to.

“You into dudes?” one of Brock’s friend, Jack Rollins, deadpanned.

“No,” Steve replied with a frown. “I like girls.”

“Let me guess,” Brock pretended to think about it, “braceface?”

“She has a name, she’s-”

“I know her name,” Brock cut him off. “So, do you want to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with her?”

Steve gave a slow nod, his eyes darting toward the staircase. A sinister smile spread across Brock’s face as he walked over to the closet and opened the door for Steve.

“C’mon, I’ll go get her.”

“You sure? What if she says no?” Steve asked.

“Of course she’s gonna say yes!” Brock said enthusiastically, his friends joining him.

“Okay, I guess,” Steve said, entering the closet.

Brock closed the door behind Steve who took a seat on the floor. Brock and his friends went upstairs, stifling their laughter.

Steve spent the next few minutes in complete silence, his heart beating incredibly fast. Perhaps this was the beginning of something great. He was going to spend seven whole minutes in a closet with you. This was his chance to tell you how he felt.

After a few minutes of nothing happening, Steve’s anxiety mounted. He slowly opened the closet door and peered outside. The basement was deserted, five empty beer bottles had been left on the floor.

With a frown, he stood up and went in search of you, Brock or Bucky.

When he walked into the living room, Mrs Jarvis was still fast asleep on the sofa, Bucky was sitting beside her. He got up when he saw Steve, a confused frown creased his brows.

Brock was standing in the middle of the living room with his friends. The front door was open and there was no trace of you.

“I’m sorry, Rogers,” Brock said, “Braceface just left.”

“She left?” Steve cast a quick look over Brock’s shoulder and then looked back at him. “What happened?”

“Yeah, turns out she’s not into you. Like  _not at all_ ,” Brock replied, his lips pressed into a thin line. “She said some very nasty things about you, sorry man.”

“I don’t believe you,” Steve gasped, his heart started to feel heavy in his chest.

“Ask Chubby,” Brock said, gesturing toward Bucky. “He saw everything.”

Steve turned to Bucky who gave him a nod. At that moment, Steve’s legs wobbled as all the colour left his face. His best friend, the girl he was in love with, didn’t love him back. In fact, just knowing he was waiting for you in the closet made you run away like a scared cat.

This wasn’t happening. No, he refused to believe it.

“Steve,” Bucky said gently, trying to pull him out of his reverie.

“No!” Steve yelled before he ran back down to the basement and locked himself in the closet.

He sat there, hugging his knees to his chest, trying to ignore Bucky’s voice as the brunet begged him to open the door. Steve closed his eyes and made a wish.

“I don’t want to be a kid anymore, I want to be an adult. I want to be thirty, I want to find love.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> words | Warning: Language, Nudity, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Drug Use, Cliffhanger
> 
> This is so long, I’m sorry. I tried to make the descriptions fun, but idk. It took me a while to write this chapter, but I had so much research to do for this fic… yikes. I really hope you’ll like this chapter, I worked so hard on it.

 

Steve woke up with a migraine, the mattress soft beneath him. His mother must have carried him up and tucked him in while he was asleep because he sure as hell wasn’t lying on the basement floor. Soft silky sheets brushed against his naked skin and his brows immediately furrowed. He  _always_  wore pyjamas.

He tried to sit up, but soon realised that there was a weight on his left shoulder. He looked down at it and saw a mop of tousled light brown hair resting on his chest.

_A woman!_

His first reaction was to roll to the other side of the bed where he ended up face-to-face with another woman. A strangled cry escaped his throat, making the two women whine in their sleep.

“Mornin, daddy,” the one on his left slurred, her hand trailing up his thigh.

“Did you just call me daddy?” he asked. His voice was so low, he must have caught a cold during his birthday party.

“Isn’t that what you want,  _daddy_?” she whispered into his ear, her hand cupping his groin.

He shirked and scrambled off the bed, taking the silky sheet with him. The two naked women sat up, concerned looks on their faces.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re naked!” Steve wrapped the sheet around his hips and gestured in their direction with his free hand.

Why did he feel like he was standing on a stepladder? His head was spinning, the room was spinning, too. He had to get out of here.

He looked around the darkened room and yelled, “MOM!”

A look of mild panic crossed the brunette’s face. She picked up her discarded dress and slipped it on. The second woman apparently had the same idea and together they quickly collected their things before they rushed out of the room.

“Wait!” Steve yelled, fumbling with the sheet as he tried to follow them.

He tripped over the trailing sheet and fell face-first onto the soft rug, accompanied by a muffled ‘ _oof_  A soft, vibrating sound made him raise his head and he watched in speechless awe as the natural light began to pour into the bedroom.

The room was large, yet simple. There was a King size bed facing floor-to-ceiling windows, offering one of the most impressive views of New York City Steve had ever seen.

Decorative pillows had been thrown to the foot of the bed. One of them even landed on a teardrop shaped settee near the door.

“Good morning, Mr Rogers,” said a sweet feminine voice with an Irish accent. Her voice seemed to come from the ceiling.

Startled, Steve sat on the floor and tugged the sheet around him while looking suspiciously around the room.

“The cook is in the elevator, he should be here any second,” the voice continued. “I’ll start the shower now. Would you like me to turn on some music?”

He had so many questions, but he couldn’t decide which one to ask first so he went with the most obvious one. “Where are you right now?”

The voice sighed. “As I’ve explained before, I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y, an artificial intelligence created by Stark Inc. I’m connected to all the devices around your apartments, including your personal and work phones and computers.”

He sat on the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to make sense of what happened. He cleared his throat, hoping to get rid of that ridiculously low voice.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I think you have the wrong Rogers. I don’t know how I ended up in this apartment, or in New York, but I’ll give you my mom’s numb-”

“I’ll ask the cook to add pain killers with your breakfast,” she cut him off, sounding amused. “Perhaps you should lay off the Norwegian liquor for awhile.”

Steve was scared to leave the room, not knowing what he’d find behind the door. He didn’t want to run into the owner, Mr Rogers.

As promised, F.R.I.D.A.Y turned on the shower and, remembering the two naked ladies in his bed, he figured he could use one.

He walked to the windows and marvelled at the view for a moment. He lived in Port Chester and rarely visited the city. On second thought, it wasn’t so bad. At least now he had a funny story to tell Bucky.

He followed the sound of running water and opened the door that led to the bathroom.

The bathroom was equally luxurious with its inlaid stone rain shower that could easily fit eight people. There was also a long vanity with double sinks and a mirror facing the shower.

Mouth agape, Steve let the sheet drop and padded to the shower.

As he passed the mirror, he caught a glimpse of a naked man and threw himself to the floor. He slowly peeked over the vanity, an excuse ready on his lips, but he realized it was just a mirror.

Frowning, he lifted his head a little and let out a small gasp as he stared at himself in the mirror.

“Oh, my god,” he swore, straightened up to his full height, “It’s me, I’m… hot!”

He didn’t look sickly anymore; he was strong and muscular and at least a foot taller. His hair was a darker shade of blond and slightly longer, too. He had a full beard and stared at it for a full minute. He’d always wondered if he’d ever grow facial hair.

“What’s happening?” he said, staring at his reflection.

He ran a hand through his hair, combing it back from his forehead. His hair seemed to naturally fall back into place, like he’d done this gesture so many times that his hair knew exactly where to go.

Yesterday was his thirteenth birthday party and today he woke up looking like a thirty-year-old man. How was it possible?

_Oh, the birthday party…._

_I want to be an adult. I want to be thirty, I want to find love._

“No,” Steve drawled out, disbelief lacing his voice. “That’s  _so_  cool!”

It seemed completely crazy, but there was no other explanation.

He took a step back and checked himself out in the mirror. His body was, for lack of a better word, impressive. Wide shoulders, broad chest, tiny waist, massive arms and thighs…

“Tattoos?” he whined, inspecting his body closely. He had one on his left shoulder, a quote under his clavicle and another one on the right side of his chest. “Mom’s gonna kill me!”

The shower was already running, the steam fogging up the mirror. He stepped into the shower, his eyes focused on his blurry reflection.

Showering was a strange experience. He ran his hands over the hard planes of his broad chest and tight abs, discovering this new body more intimately.

His breathing hitched and he felt himself growing hard. Chancing a glance down, he saw the evidence of his arousal sticking up straight from his body. Then, suddenly, the water turned ice cold and he hurriedly leapt out of the shower stall.

“What the hell?”

“You always end your morning shower with a blast of cold water,” the A.I replied. “It increases alertness and closes up the pores.”

“Yeah? Let’s not do that again.”

“Very well, sir.”

“You can call me Steve,” he said, wrapping himself in a fluffy towel. “So, um, I live here?”

“Yes, Steve, 45 East 22nd Street, apartment 60FL. Is there anything else you need?”

“Clothes?” he replied with a shy grimace.

Following F.R.I.D.A.Y’s direction, he took a deep breath before he opened the bedroom door. He was scared to run into someone, even though the A.I. had informed him that it was just him and the cook.

He entered the walk-in closet tentatively and gasped when F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned on the lights. It was twice the size of his bedroom, with a round sofa in the middle of the room and a small staircase that led to another closet with mirrored sliding doors.

Suits, shirts, trousers, jeans, shoes; there were enough items for him to open his own store. He took his time and tried on several outfits before he found the  _perfect_  one.

“Steve,” the A.I. interrupted, “Your morning coffee has just finished brewing. Breakfast is served. I should also remind you that Mr Rumlow will be expecting you in the hall at 8 a.m.”

“Brock?” Steve squealed, suddenly excited to see a familiar face. “I’m still friends with Brock! That’s awesome!”

“Indeed, it is,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied in a monotonous voice. “Are you sober enough to find the dining room?”

He bashfully told her he had no idea where the dining room was and she provided directions again. She sounded like a real person: annoyed, sassy, amused… It was strange to think she was just a voice in the wall.

What Steve had seen so far was nothing compared to the living-slash-dining room. It looked like a page out of a magazine.

There was a large and modern dining room table for formal meals that led to a windowed eat-in kitchen with marble countertops and custom-designed cabinetry.

The living room was spacious and bright, decorated with modern artworks and furnishings. Thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, he had a 360-degree view of New York City, looking over the borough of Brooklyn.

“I could get used to that,” Steve whispered to himself.

He sat at the breakfast nook and glared at the tray of food in front of him. His breakfast consisted of a green concoction in a tall glass, a slice of grapefruit and a bowl of sliced bananas in plain yogurt. He poked the grapefruit with his spoon and screwed his face up in disgust.

“Um, ma’am,” he spoke, looking up at the ceiling. “Do you have cereal?”

“You cut out sugar from your diet,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“That sucks!”

He ate a few spoonfuls of yogurt before he pushed the tray away. It was almost time to meet Brock downstairs so he took the elevator down to the lobby, excited to see his friend.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” a voice startled him as he stepped into the lobby.

A man, most likely in his thirties, stared down at him, incredulous. His black hair was short and styled with gel and he wore a perfectly tailored beige suit with no tie.

Steve looked down at his own clothes and frowned. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a matching jacket and a light blue shirt.

He really liked this look and it was really popular, especially after the American Music Award where Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears showed up wearing matching denim outfits.

“Denim-on-denim?” Brock said with a smirk. “Trying to bring sexy back?”

Steve cocked his head to one side. Was that a reference to something? He had no idea. “Brock? That’s really you? Whoa, you’re old!”

Rolling his eyes, Brock turned on his heel. “Fuck off, Rogers.”

Brock was on his phone when the doorman opened the door for him. Steve trailed after Brock like a lost puppy and greeted the man at the door with a polite smile. The man looked at him incredulously before his face broke into a similar friendly smile.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked as they walked to the car parked in front of the building.

“Work, dude.”

“We work together?” Steve said excitedly. “That’s awesome! Okay, what do we do?”

Brock threw him a side glance. “I knew I should have stayed last night. The party must have been wild, you look so stoned. What’d take? Cocaine? Heroin? Meth?”

“What?! No, I don’t do drugs,” Steve objected.

“Yeah, right,” Brock scoffed, “me neither.”

It only took fifteen minutes to go from his apartment to his workplace in the garment district of Manhattan. Steve looked out the tinted window as the chauffeur pulled to the curb before a large mirrored-glass building.

His bodyguard opened the door and Steve slowly climbed out of the car, his eyes widening when he saw a plaque above the double doors that read ‘STEVE ROGERS HEADQUARTERS NYC’.

“Nice outfit, sir,” his bodyguard said, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

“Thanks,” Steve replied, still flabbergasted.

Brock rounded the vehicle and pulled Steve aside. When Steve continued to look around in wonder, Brock grabbed his shoulders and shook him once.

“Man, you gotta pull yourself together,” he whisper-shouted. “You’re a fucking fashion designer. You can’t enter this building looking like Justin fucking Timberlake on Prozac.”

Brock glanced around to make sure no one was listening and spotted paparazzi on the opposite side of the road. He moved in front of Steve to block their view.

“Here’s what you gonna do,” he continued. “You’re going to enter this building, drink a large fucking coffee and lock yourself in your office. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything, but you owe me big fucking time.”

Steve gave him a hard look. “You say the F-word like  _a lot_.”

Brock sighed, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face. “Man, I don’t know what you took, but next time I want in.” He pulled him into a hug and patted his back. “Stay hydrated, ‘k?”

They entered the building together. There were a lot of people in the atrium; tall, skinny models who turned their heads when they recognized Steve and employees who watched him with a mixture of fright and admiration.

They seemed to move out of his way like he was Moses parting the Red Sea. Steve was too speechless and confused to focus on them. They took the private elevator and stood in silence while the elevator made its long ascent.

“I’m a fashion designer,” Steve spoke quietly, mostly to himself.

“Yup,” Brock mumbled as he pulled out his phone and started typing a text message. “Time’s person of the year in 2012  _and_  2017, youngest billionaire in the world and the wet of every boys and girls on this fucking planet.”

“I must be dreaming,” Steve said slowly as he processed what Brock had just said. “Ow!” he cried when he pinched the tender skin on his neck.

“Not dreaming,” he said, “now let’s go.”

Brock walked over to a woman with long golden hair. He leaned in and whispered something into her ear. She gave him a thumbs-up and turned to Steve with a bright smile.

“Oh, my God,” Steve cringed, looking for a place to hide. His employees were busy looking busy and didn’t pay attention to them.

Brock and the woman walked back to him. “Wanda’s gonna take care of you.”

Steve took Brock aside and explained that he woke up next to this Wanda girl just a few hours ago. Brock laughed and called Steve a ‘ _fucking stereoty_ pe’ before he headed toward his own office. Steve turned back to Wanda with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said. “So, um, who are you again?”

“Wanda Maximoff, your assistant for the past two years,” she replied with a frown. “You really scared us this morning. Mr Rumlow said you weren’t feeling well.”

Steve replied with a casual shrug while she led him to his office. She informed him that Brock had already transferred the files he needed for the meetings and that he was free for the rest of the day.

“Clint will drive you home when you’re ready, sir.”

“Ok, cool,” he replied.

Involuntarily, she let out a loud laugh as the words passed his lips. He was always so professional and stern, definitely not the kind of boss who treated their employees like family members.

But when he was not at work, he was completely different.

Wanda had run into him in a very select bar the night before. He had danced with her, offered her fruity cocktails and she had really liked the attention. When he invited her and her friend over to his apartment, they eagerly accepted the invitation.

“Oh, by the way,” she turned back to him and handed him his personal phone, “I took your phone by mistake this morning.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the rectangular device in his hand.

She left the room, closing the double doors behind her. Steve plopped down on one of the sofas in his office and took a good look around the room. One thing was for sure, his 30 year-old self was a materialistic person.

His office was a mess, which was strange since his apartment was absolutely spotless.

There were mannequins everywhere, sketches and pieces of fabric clipped onto wooden boards for future reference. He also had a large collection of fashion magazines, sharpies, pencils, erasers, rulers and sketch pads.

He sat in the comfortable leather chair at his desk and flipped through various files. He soon realized that work was his whole life and that he probably spent more time in his office than at home.

Steve loved to draw; it was his safe place. His mother didn’t make enough money to buy him GI Joe dolls or remote controlled cars, but she always came home with pens and scraps of paper stuffed in her bag.

He was looking at some of his drawings when an alarm on his phone went off. He had never owned a phone before, but Bucky’s mother had one –a Nokia 3310- and it didn’t look like this one  _at all_.  He managed to turn the alarm off and read the reminder.

_Chez Francis, 8PM_

The computer on his desk was a lot thinner than what he used to use at the public library, but he recognized the Apple logo. He was relieved to see that Google was still a thing and after a quick search, he found the restaurant located in Greenwich Village.

Since he was technically allowed to leave, he asked his chauffeur-slash-bodyguard to drive him home. Clint was a quiet guy. He seemed nice, though a bit on the scary side.

Steve learned that he owned ten apartments in the tower; the penthouse, the first five floors, which were for his employees, and four others for his guests.

Like Uncle Scrooge, Steve was swimming in money.

But something was missing.

No one had mentioned his mom, you or Bucky and it was starting to stress him out. Plus, now, he had a dinner date with a mysterious guest. He could have bailed on them, but his mother had raised him better than that.

He arrived at the restaurant with ten minutes to spare and decided to stay outside while he waited for his guest. It seemed like a lovely place; French food, but not too pretentious. He hazarded a glance inside, but the lights were dimmed.

French food and dimmed lights? This wasn’t a casual evening, it was a date. A wave of nausea hit him and for a second he thought he might throw up. If he had a girlfriend, then he was the world’s shittiest boyfriend.

He woke up that morning with two naked women, neither of them seemed to be his partner. As a kid, he’d promised himself he’d treat his partners with respect, especially after his father left his mother for another woman.

His mother was his hero, but as far as he was concerned, his father could rot in hell.

Outside the sun had set and there was a distinct chill in the air. Steve tightened his coat around himself and looked around. There was a man, not far away, busy typing away on his phone.

He was tall, probably in his late twenties, and dressed smart casual. His shoulder length hair was tied up in a bun and he was wearing a long coat above a navy blue shirt.

“Bucky?!” Steve exclaimed, recognizing his best friend.

The man looked up from his phone with a frown and met Steve’s eyes. Steve’s face split into a wide smile as he walked over to him.

“I’m so glad to see you,” he said, pulling him into a hug. Bucky’s body was stiff, but Steve was too happy to notice that. “Look at us, all grown up and stuff!”

Bucky didn’t say a word, he pulled back quickly and smiled tightly at Steve who was still beaming.

“The craziest thing happened to me today,” Steve continued, undeterred. “You’re not going to believe this. When I woke up th-”

“I’m so sorry I’m late. It’s rush hour, I had to fight my way into the train,” you said breathlessly. You had seen someone with Bucky, but you only realized who it was when you turned to him. “Steve?”

“Hi,” Steve replied, looking down at his shoes.

The last time he’d seen you, you had run away after Brock asked you if you wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with Steve. You had broken his heart that day. It might have been 17 years ago, but, to Steve, it was only yesterday.

“Are we waiting for someone else?” he asked.

Your eyes widened. “We?”

You and Bucky shared a look, the two of you had become masters in the art of silent communication. Bucky curled his arm around your waist and tucked you against his side. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

_What?_

_No…_

“Steve,” Bucky said after clearing his throat. “I don’t know who you’re meeting here, but it’s not us. We,” he paused briefly, “we haven’t seen you since high school.”

That comment made Steve’s head snap up. “High school? We’re not friends anymore?”

You were taken aback by his tone. It was pleading, almost childlike and it made your chest tighten. You had to remind yourself that this man, as nice as he was trying to be, wasn’t the sweet kid you used to know.

He was a celebrity, a billionaire and women threw themselves at his feet. He lived a scandalous life. He wasn’t your Steve.

A pretty blonde with long legs and a perfect white smile came up to them and kissed Steve on the cheek. She turned to you and Bucky and greeted you with a cheerful ‘ _hello_ ’.

“Looks like you found your date,” Bucky told him watching you shake the blonde’s hand.

Steve caught the gleam of the solitaire on your ring finger. Caught off guard, he stared at you with a wounded look on his face. Bucky tightened his arm around your waist.

“You’re married.”

“Engaged,” you corrected, smiling at his date when she grabbed your hand and took a closer look at your engagement ring. She commented on how beautiful the ring was and you agreed, turning your head to smile at Bucky.

He shook his head, bashful, and kissed your temple. Steve was frozen, unable to look away and unable to close his eyes. His whole world came crashing down around him.

“We should go,” Bucky whispered into your ear as he linked his fingers with yours. He straightened up to look at Steve and his date. “It was nice seeing you. Enjoy your evening.”

“Likewise,” the woman said with a smile. “And congratulations.”

Steve cleared his throat. “Yes, congratulations.”

He watched you and Bucky enter the restaurant. A myriad of emotions washed over his face, none of them pleasant.

_Be careful what you wish for…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2,725 words | Warnings: none  
> Hope you enjoy this part :)

 

Bucky woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, a smile on his lips and his eyes still closed. He listened to you move around the room while you were getting ready for work.

Your studio apartment was small and not ideally situated, but it was home. You had turned the open kitchen into an eat-in kitchen thanks to a simple breakfast bar. To save space, you had bought a Murphy bed and used the decorative fireplace as a mini library.

Bucky let out a content sigh and stretched out starfish style. He grinned lazily at you, the sheet tangled around his waist.  

You rounded the counter and crossed the living room. He greeted you with a soft ‘ _hey you’_  and watched you take a seat on the edge of the bed, your hands wrapped around a cup of coffee.

“I hope this wasn’t the last K-cup,” he slurred, then groaned when you made an apologetic grimace. “I  _need_  coffee.”

You rolled your eyes while brushing his hair back from his forehead. He pouted for a second before he pushed himself into a sitting position and kissed you. He tried to pull you down onto the mattress with him, but you were already late for work.

“I gotta go,” you mumbled against his lips. He made a sound of protest. “Seriously, if I’m late again, Natasha’s gonna fire me.”

You had barely had enough time to place the mug of coffee down on the floor before Bucky wrapped his arms around you and flipped you both over until he was on top. You let out a giggling shriek and tried to push him off.

He kissed you again, slowly, tenderly. You really wanted to call in sick and stay in bed with him, but that was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Bucky pulled back enough to playfully rub his nose against yours.

“You know,” you spoke, “it’s amazing how you just don’t care about morning breath when you’ve been with someone for ages.”

He dropped his head and sighed, a hint of a smile curling his lips. “We were having a moment.”

“I know, sorry, I really have to go.”

You gave him a quick kiss and climbed over him to get out of bed. You put your coat and your shoes on and turned to him.

“Tell you what, you can keep the last cup of coffee. I’ll grab something on the way to the office.”

“Yesss!” he beamed, pumping his fist in the air in a victory gesture.

You grabbed your bags and keys from the counter and blew him a kiss before you left.

It took you over half an hour to reach Hearst Tower, which housed some of the world’s most famous magazine publishing companies. After receiving your master’s degree in journalism, you had applied to work as an editorial assistant for a fairly new magazine called Honeysuckle.

The competition was tough and your numbers were not good. Your editor-in-chief even used the word redesign, which, in this industry, was a death sentence.

This meant that you had to work longer hours to get the results the company needed. You didn’t mind since Bucky never came home until well after eleven.

Meeting deadlines was always challenging and you thrived on that adrenaline rush like a junkie.

You barged into the tower and passed through security before you took the elevator up to the offices.  As you exited the elevator, the usual office noises greeted you and you tried to make yourself as small as possible while you walked to your desk.

The cubicles stretched all the way down the open-plan office with no pillars or walls to isolate you. There were offices on each side of the room; one for the editor-in-chief, an art room, a fashion closet and a few others for the senior editors.

You had just draped your coat over your chair when someone sneaked up behind you and whispered in your ear.

“Romanoff’s looking for you,” your cubicle mate said, startling you in the process.

“Jesus, Scott, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!” you replied, placing a hand over your racing heart.

You leaned back in your chair and watched him take a few folders from his desk before he walked away. He turned and walked backward for a moment, meeting your eyes when he said, “FYI she looked pissed.”

“Yeah, what else is new?” you mumbled to yourself.

At this moment, the features editor, Natasha Romanoff, exited her office and looked over the sea of cubicles until she saw you. Her high heels made no sound on the carpeted floor as she approached your desk. Without slowing down, she asked you to follow her.

“Ms Romanoff, I-”

“You’re not in trouble,” she cut you off, casting you a sideways glance. “Nick wants to see you.”

You managed a weak smile and tried to look nonchalant. An impromptu meeting with the editor-in-chief wasn’t a great way to start your day.

Natasha opened the door and motioned you inside. Nick Fury was enjoying the view of the New York City skyline while lounging in his leather desk chair. He swivelled his chair in your direction and greeted you by name.

He waved you to a chair in front of his desk while Natasha stood next to his desk, looking as stoic as ever.

“Do you remember last week’s meeting,” he said, resting his forearms on his desk.

Of course you remembered that meeting. He basically spent two hours telling everyone that unless someone came up with a brilliant idea to bring up the numbers, you’d all lose your jobs.

He gave you a small smile when you replied in the affirmative.

“Here at Honeysuckle, we want our reader to feel like they matter. We want them to close the magazine with a smile on their faces, we want them to feel good about themselves.”

He took a moment before continuing, his expression thoughtful.  “I’ve read your proposition and you’re right, this magazine has lost its true identity.”

Before you worked for them, Honeysuckle was one of your favourite magazines. You didn’t particularly enjoy reading fashion magazines because they all had the same articles: a new diet each month and strange relationship advice.

But Honeysuckle was different. They were more inclusive than any other magazines, choosing models for their talent rather than their gender, age, body type, skin colour or religious preference.

Somehow, it changed over time. They continued to promote diversity, but their models became more sombre and less joyful. The colour scheme changed, too; it went from soft greens, whites and yellows to bold colours.

You knew they were selling you a fantasy, but it wasn’t important as long as they encouraged women to focus on their inner beauty. You had cancelled your subscription after the senior editors gave you your first diet story.

“Now,” Nick said with a hopeful smile, “it’s time for Honeysuckle to change. I want us to get back to the roots of our business. Will you help me?”

You sat up straight. “Of course, sir!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said with a nod. “I want to hear your ideas.”

Emboldened by his response, you sat on the edge of your seat. You were also relieved that he wasn’t going to fire you for being late.

“I think we should put life back into the magazine!” you exclaimed, gripping the edge of the desk. “We should talk about real women. Women who are smart and pretty and happy to be who they are.”

Nick studied you while he rested his chin on his fist. “You’re saying we should focus on the so-called ‘normal’ women, uh.”

“It’s not an insult,” you quickly replied. “Women are complex and beautiful; we all have different passions, different interests, but a lot of us have a job, we go on dates, we hang out with friends, and all that. We should talk about these women. We should talk about us.”

“I agree,” Nick replied after throwing a quick glance at Natasha. “I have a question for you. Are  _you_  a normal woman?”

You shrugged. “Yes, I think I am.”

Nick leaned forward on the desk and laced his fingers in front of him. “So if we wanted to talk about you,” he paused, “you wouldn’t have a problem with that, would you?”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that. Did he just say he wanted to write an article about you?

“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

He stared at you with a strange expression before he reached sideways and opened a drawer of his desk. His hand fumbled for something in it, then he slammed it on the table.

It was a gossip magazine with Steve Rogers on the cover. You were standing in front of him, and even though Bucky wasn’t on the photo, you could see his arm around your waist. Paparazzi must have followed Steve when he ran into you and Bucky in front of the restaurant.

“Oh, god,” you whispered as you picked up the magazine.

“You never mentioned you were friends with Rogers,” Natasha said, her arms crossed over her chest. “He isn’t a random celebrity. He’s one of the most influential people in the world and he happens to be a fashion designer.”

“I don’t really know him,” you sighed, throwing the magazine back on the table. “We used to be friends when we were kids, but we grew apart. I ran into him the other night when I was out with my fiancé.”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” Nick said, straightening his posture. “Rogers is the kind of celebrity we need to bring up our numbers.”

“We also need an emotional story to attract more readers,” Natasha chimed in.

You sank into your seat, suddenly nervous. She sat cross-legged on Nick’s desk, ready to present her new idea.

“We want you to share your wedding journey with our readers.”

You looked at her with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”

Unfazed, Natasha continued, “Wedding TV shows are extremely popular, it sells. This might be the boost we need. Our readers will follow you through every step of the way. Including, and that will be the climax of the series, how your former childhood friend created your own wedding dress.”

You held back a laugh. “Steve Rogers will never agree to do that.”

“He will,” Natasha replied in a tone that made it sound like she had already thought this through. “The dress’ a way for us to get noticed, to join the big league. Imagine this: superstar Steve Rogers designs a glamorous wedding dress for his long-lost friend. And this long-lost friend is  _you_ , a normal girl.”

They gave you a minute to let that sink in, but it wasn’t enough. You had no idea what to say. It was insane. Organising a wedding was complicated enough and you didn’t want to share everything with potentially millions of people.

Sensing your hesitancy, Nick tried to soften the blow. “If you accept, we’ll help you financially with your wedding. In addition, if our numbers improve, I’ll promote Natasha to associate editor. This means, you’ll be our new features editor.”

“And if I refuse?”

Nick let out a small sigh. “You’re allowed to say no, and if you do, we won’t hold it against you. But quite frankly, this is the deal of a lifetime. People would kill for that.”

He was right, but it didn’t change the fact that you had to talk to Bucky. It wasn’t just your wedding, it was his, too.

You were also iffy about working with Steve, should he accept their offer. Seeing him again after all this time brought back bittersweet memories.

The last time you had seen him before that, Steve had kissed you passionately one night and disappeared the next day.

“It’s a generous offer,” you agreed, choosing your words carefully. “I think I should talk to my fiancé first.”

“Absolutely!” Nick beamed, shooting Natasha a wide smile. “You and your guy should do some thinking over the weekend.”

You were visibly shaken when you returned to your desk after that bizarre meeting with your boss. You sat there for a moment just staring into space.

“So?” Scott rolled his chair closer to you. “Did you get fired?”

You shook your head. “They want to pay for my wedding and give me a promotion.”

Scott stared at you, his eyes blinking in shock. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then thought better of it and rolled back to his desk. For the first time since you’d started working with him, Scott Lang was speechless…

*

Steve called in sick for the second time that week. To his relief, Brock texted back that he’d take care of everything.

He opened every cupboard, every cabinet door searching for something other than fruits and vegetables.

After a few minutes, he found a cupboard full of sugary snacks; including boxes of Lucky Charms and Cap'n Crunch, Hersey bars and cookies, Twizzlers, Starburst Jelly Beans and a huge box of Cracker Jacks.

He carried everything into the living room and settled down on the white sofa, ready to drown his sorrows in sweets.

Steve was famous, rich, talented, loved by everyone and he lived in an incredible apartment, but there was something missing. He was a womanizer, an addict, a liar. He lived a frivolous, pointless life and he wanted to know how he ended up so messed up.

He called at home to talk to his mom, but the number had been disconnected. He figured that she’d changed her number in the last seventeen years.

He couldn’t even talk to you or Bucky because he didn’t have your numbers and because you were no longer friends. It hurt to know that he had cut all ties with his best friends –or maybe his friends cut ties with him… he honestly had no idea.

The people he loved the most were gone and Steve might have looked like an adult, but he was just a kid.

“Ma’am,” he asked the A.I. “Is SpongeBob still a thing?”

It was an odd request and it took F.R.I.D.A.Y. a few seconds to react. He only watched the sports channels, but nonetheless the A.I. turned on the television and Steve relaxed into the cushions when the familiar pirate appeared.

“Steve,” F.R.I.D.A.Y interrupted him after an hour. “Ms Carter is in the lobby.”

Steve let out a grunt. “I don’t know her. Tell her to leave, I want to be alone.”

“She’s already in the elevator.”

Annoyed, he left the blanket on the sofa and padded to the front door. He didn’t want to see anyone, he wanted to be left alone with his junk food and forget everything.

When he swung the door open, he found a woman in a dark blue suit standing there. She was tall, had dark curly hair and wide, expressive eyes.

She glanced at him, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow when she saw his dirty pyjamas, and Steve shuffled his feet as he began to feel self-conscious. She was sophisticated and he clearly wasn’t.

“Goodness, Steve, it’s past two, what are you doing in your pyjamas?” she asked, but before he could say anything she raised her hand to stop him. “You know what, I don’t want to know. I’m late, you were supposed to pick her up this morning.”

Upon seeing the confused look on his face, she began to tap her foot impatiently.

“You fought me for joint custody, now you stick to our schedule,” she continued. “I’m not at your beck and call.”

The sound of someone repeatedly hitting the elevator button caught her attention. She turned around and asked the little girl standing by the elevator to stop fiddling with the button.

Panic rose in Steve’s chest. He steadied himself against the door frame as he locked eyes with a little girl with messy dark blonde curls. Her face lit up when she saw him, a toothy grin spread across her face.

She was halfway across the corridor, tottering towards him on unsteady legs, her arms outstretched. She crashed into his legs and wrapped her small arms around him before she glanced up at him, her big hazel eyes beaming.

“Dada!”


	4. Chapter 4

 

Steve’s eyes widened when the little girl wrapped around his legs called him ‘Dada’. It felt like a bucket of icy cold water had been poured over him. His heart began to thud hard in his chest and anxiety squeezed his throat tight.

His life was just full of surprises…

The woman in front of him, the mother of his child, was talking but he was far too stunned to pay attention to her. All he could think about was that stupid wish he’d made a few days ago. Now he was standing in front of his child and the mother of his child and he didn’t even know their names.

“I CAN’T BE A FATHER,” he shouted, suddenly and unexpectedly, startling them both. “I’M ONLY THIRTEEN.”

The little girl and her mother froze, they both had a serious look on their faces before the toddler broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. She buried her face against his leg and blew out a loud raspberry.

Her mother didn’t find his outburst funny and, with an exasperated sigh, she pinched the skin at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

“Tell me you’re clean, Steve,” she whispered, “please, god, tell me you haven’t used any of that C-R-A-P,” she said, spelling out the word in case her daughter was listening.

People thought he was an addict and they were probably right. His body was craving for something, it was dull but it was there.

He was worried that he might actually want to use drugs and unfortunately, Steve hadn’t yet found his Narcotics Anonymous medallion, which he kept inside his wallet. It would have eased his worries a little.

Right now, he had to start acting like an adult. He looked like he was in his late twenties, but he was just a kid forced to navigate through his older self’s chaotic life without a compass.

“Sorry, I was joking,” Steve fibbed, “I’m okay, I can take care of her.”

She didn’t speak and held his gaze before she squatted down to meet the little girl’s eyes. She opened her arms to hug her daughter and rocked her sideways.

“I love you, my darling,” she said, pulling away to hold up two fingers. “I’ll see you in two beddy-byes, alright?” The toddler nodded her head furiously. “Oh! I think I can hear SpongeBob!”

The little girl did a little dance and ran inside Steve’s apartment. She had obviously been there before and easily found the living room.

Peggy stood up, all joy drained from her face as she handed Steve a light blue backpack. When he reached out to take it, she clasped her hand around his wrist and tugged him toward her.

“If you leave her alone with a stranger to go out with your sluts and junkie friends, I’ll castrate you. Do I make myself clear?”

Swallowing hard, Steve nodded his head yes. He had never seen so much anger aimed at him before.

Peggy lingered at the door, nervous to leave her child. She hesitated and raked a hand through her brown curls before she slowly backed away. She gave Steve a final glare before she entered the elevator.

Steve walked back into his apartment, closed the door behind him and briefly leaned against it. He had to snap out of it. He couldn’t afford to wallow in self-pity, he had to take care of his child.

He found the girl in the living room along with all the snacks he had left on the sofa. She was sitting on the sofa, her whole arm shoved into a box of Lucky Charms.

He took the box away and the little girl began to cry hysterically for her mother. When she realized her mother was gone, she ran to the front door and pounded her little fists against the door.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Steve said gently, approaching her like she was a wild animal. He shook the box of cereal and the sound made the toddler glance at him with a suspicious frown. “See, I have candies. Want one?”

“No, you mean.” She stuck her tongue out at him and ran away.

Defeated, Steve sat on the floor and wolfed down a fistful of cereal before he followed her. He only had to listen to the sound of her tiny feet tap tapping across the floorboards to know where she was.

Her bedroom was… very pink. It gave off that ‘princess vibe’ that little girls usually loved. If he had taken the time to visit his apartment, he would have noticed this bedroom, but he was too afraid of getting lost in the maze-like apartment.

Luckily for him, brightly coloured wooden letters on the bedroom door spelt out his daughter’s name: CAROL. Seeing this was both frightening and exhilarating, he had a baby girl and her name was Carol.

Steve entered the room and found her lying on her bed, her face planted in a pillow.

“Carol,” he said gently as he sat on her bed, “are you done being dramatic?”

“No,” came her muffled response.

It made Steve smile to himself, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

She agreed to join him in the living room after he promised her a giant bowl of Lucky Charms. She happily munched her dinner, laughing at something on the TV. After dinner, she made grabby hands in Steve’s direction and asked for his phone.

He didn’t know if his older self usually let her play with his phone, but he didn’t want to make her cry again. The three-year-old girl effortlessly unlocked the device and pulled up the YouTube app.

“The Bery Ungry Craterfillar,” she said, pressing the phone against his chest.

It took him a moment to understand she meant ‘the very hungry caterpillar’ and it took him even longer to find the right video. Once she pointed to the video she wanted to watch, she curled herself against his chest and held the phone in one hand while she sucked her thumb.

Steve watched the video with her, smiling fondly every time she laughed, awed or gasped. She had probably watched it a hundred times, but it didn’t matter to her. She fell asleep before the end of the story and he decided to wait a little longer before he carried her to bed.

After that, he went to bed with a tired smile. Being a father wasn’t so hard and he’d done a pretty decent job considering he was just a teen.

Well, she had not taken a bath, brushed her teeth, eaten a proper meal or changed into her pyjamas, but it wasn’t that bad, was it?

The next day, all hell broke loose. It was Saturday and Steve momentarily forgot he wasn’t alone until Carol came tearing into his room and started bouncing on his bed.

He tried to be more responsible this time. After breakfast, he told her to go brush her teeth, but the toddler answered with a categorical ‘no’. She even crossed her arms against her chest and lifted her chin, a move Steve knew all too well.

He made a show of brushing his teeth with her before they sat on the sofa and watched Saturday morning cartoons for the better part of the morning. When Steve suggested they get some fresh air (now that was a sentence he never thought he’d say), she started screaming and crying like a lunatic.

Then, he tried to make her eat something healthy, but she refused to open her mouth. When he pushed the plate closer to her, she let it fall to the floor, her eyes never leaving his.

“Oops,” she said with patently false innocence.

At some point during the afternoon, Steve had fallen asleep on the sofa. When he woke up, he noticed that the apartment was strangely silent. A little too silent…

Panic rose in his chest as he searched everywhere for her before he finally found her in her bedroom. She was lying on her stomach on the floor, drawing and singing quietly to herself. Steve wondered how someone so tiny could go from demon to angel so fast.

Then, he drew her a bubble bath and, for a moment, the toddler was happy to play with her toys and send water everywhere. Steve didn’t want her out of his sight so he squatted beside the tub and played with her.

He was soaked through after only a couple of minutes, but Carol’s happy squeals and giggles made his heart soar.

She threw another tantrum when Steve tried to change her into her pyjamas and, too tired to say no to her, he let her have cereal for dinner again.

Now Carol was finally asleep in the fort Steve had made with her earlier. She didn’t want to sleep in her own room because the monsters under her bed were having a party and she didn’t want to bother them.

He plopped down on the sofa and gave a long, exhausted sigh. Steve always thought his mother was some kind of superhero. She raised him alone and had a very stressful job, but she always did her best.

After taking care of his own child for a day, he was certain his mother was also a saint.

He had never spent more than a few days away from his mother and he wanted to see her. He missed her terribly.

“Ma’am?” Steve whispered, calling the A.I. “I need to talk to my mom. Can you find her number?”

He was certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had access to everything; it had programmed the coffee machine and the shower, it was also connected to his work phone and computer so if he had his mom’s phone number somewhere, F.R.I.D.A.Y. would be able to find it.

“I’m afraid her number has been reallocated,” the A.I. whispered back.

“What? When?”

“Four years ago,” the A.I. paused. “After she passed away.”

If this were a movie, there would be a fast close-up on Steve with the sound of something breaking in the background. It was how he felt, like time had stopped.

He felt the unmistakable sting of tears behind his eyes, but kept himself together. He was so tired, so sick of this life. “M-my mommy’s dead?”

“Steve, I sense distress in your voice. Do you need medical attention?”

He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a sob. His throat hurt, his lungs were begging for air, but he didn’t want to wake his daughter up.

“No,” he choked out. “How did she die?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. found that Sarah Rogers died of pneumonia when Steve was twenty-six. The A.I. found other disturbing news, but said nothing.

He imagined himself going to his mother’s funeral, having to plan everything and more tears started rolling down his cheeks. He pressed his eyes closed and, between clenched teeth, he gave out a strangled moan.

A small hand tapped his shoulder, startling Steve out of his thoughts. The noise had woken Carol up who’d crawled out of her fort to sit next to him on the sofa. She rubbed his back the same way her mother rubbed her back when she was upset.

“Daddy, no more crayin,” she said when he gave her a sad smile. “You a big boy now.”

Kids are like sponges, influenced by what they see or experience. Steve could tell she was only repeating things that had been said to her. She was an adorable little bossy lady with brown curls and big hazel eyes.

At least he had one good thing in his life…

“Dis because you dini’t hava nap,” she told him matter-of-factly. The serious expression on her face made Steve laugh. She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically, her small hand resting on his large shoulder. “You need a story?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m okay,” he replied, smiling through his tears.

He didn’t want to scare her, she looked worried enough. Carol wrapped her fingers around his index finger and made him follow her into the makeshift fort in the middle of the room.

He lay down on the floor and watched as she covered him with a blanket that was too small for him. She took her stuffed penguin and seemed to hesitate before she handed it to him.

Steve let her take care of him even though it should have been the opposite. She lay down next to him and he adjusted the blanket to keep her warm.

“Now shhh,” she said, placing her index finger over her lips. She lay on her side with her hands tucked under her head and her knees pulled up.

The next morning after breakfast, Steve decided to visit his mother’s grave. Carol seemed to be in a good mood, though perhaps a little clingier. He let her wear her princess dress, which made her squeal happily.

He took her stuffed penguin and packed a snack before they went to the flower shop while F.R.I.D.A.Y. gave instructions to the driver.

As they walked up the street, some people recognized the famous Steve Rogers, but he didn’t pay attention to them. He was with his daughter and the rest didn’t matter.

He bought a bouquet of lilies for his mother and a single pink rose for Carol who hid behind his legs when the two florists said they liked her dress.

Steve snickered at her sudden bashfulness and picked her up in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face against his shoulder.

It took them almost two hours to reach St Mary’s Cemetery in Port Chester where Sarah was buried. Carol, who had fallen asleep in the car, was now looking out the window at the rows of tombstones.

“It’s scawy,” she said with a frown.

“Do you want to stay in the car with Clint?” he asked, combing his fingers through her hair, distracting her from the view.

Her eyes widened with glee. “Yes, CINT CINT CINT CINT!” she shouted. “Cint is my fwend.”

“I sure am,” the driver replied, winking at her in the rear-view mirror.

Steve easily found his mother’s grave thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y instructions. He squatted down to take a closer look and, not knowing what to say, he started cleaning the grave. It didn’t look abandoned, but it was clear no one had cleaned it in a while.

The cemetery was so silent that he could hear Carol and Clint play a game of rock-paper-scissors. With a sigh, he left the bouquet of lilies and headed back to the car.

It was late when they made it back to Steve’s apartment. The doorman warned Steve that Carol’s mother was already waiting for them. Carol tightened her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear that she didn’t want to go home. Steve gently rubbed her back as they entered the elevator.

“It’s past 6, Steve,” Peggy nearly shouted when they exited the elevator. “Where the hell were you?”

“The Chemetawy!” Carol announced with a huge smile.

Peggy froze, the corner of her eye twitching in anger. “Well, isn’t that sweet? Daddy took his little girl to the cemetery. What a good idea!” Her tone was light, but thick with sarcasm.

“She stayed in the car,” Steve told her while he opened the door.

Peggy made a noncommittal noise as she followed them inside. Carol jumped to her feet and went straight to her room. Steve turned to Peggy and offered her something to drink.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that she intimidated him. He didn’t even know her name.

“We’re leaving in two minutes,” Peggy replied, shaking her head. She entered the living room and paused when she noticed the fort, the toys and the dirty dishes scattered around the dining room table. “Jesus Christ!”

Steve looked at the mess and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, yes… sorry about the mess.”

“Now I understand why Carol always wants to come here,” Peggy sighed. “It’s Disneyland. You let her do absolutely anything. She needs a father, Steve. Start acting like one.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve replied, ashamed.

“I get it,” Peggy said through gritted teeth as she started picking up toys. “You’re Steve Rogers, you’re the cool dad, you don’t care about anything. And I’m Peggy Carter, I’m the nagging mum who makes her eat her vegetables.”

Dropping the toys on the floor, she sat heavily on the sofa and buried her face in her hands. Steve didn’t know what had happened between them, but he was pretty sure it was his fault. It was always his fault.

He looked at her with a worried frown before he gingerly made his way across the room and sat beside her.

“What can I do to make it better?” he asked.

She inhaled deeply, then turned to him. He couldn’t stand the way she looked at him. It was a combination of longing, hatred and, most of all, sadness.

“Here’s what you can do,” she said quietly. “You go back in time and you don’t sleep with my niece.”

This new revelation felt like a punch to the gut. Steve slowly closed his eyes and nodded. He had cheated on her. Now he officially hated himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said genuinely.

“Yeah, well….” she trailed off with a shrug.

Carol joined them in the living room and Steve told her to pick up her toys. She whined, but he crossed his arms and gave her a stern look. Reluctantly, she started gathering up her toys.

Then, she put on her coat before she joined her mother at the door. Steve squatted down to Carol’s level and the little girl wrapped her arms around his shoulders while they hugged.

“I love you, dada,” she said before giving him a wet kiss on the cheek.

“I love you,” Steve replied, watching her leave his apartment. “So much. So so much.”

It was insane. He’d had no idea he had a child until two days ago and now he didn’t want her to go. She was sweet and innocent and stubborn but in an adorable way.

She was the only good thing in his life… maybe she was better off without him.

“When can I see her again?” he asked Peggy.

Peggy pushed the elevator call button and turned to him. “Next month, but only if your test comes back clean.”

They stepped into the elevator, leaving Steve on his own.

*

When you got nervous, you cleaned and after that meeting with your boss, you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Bucky always worked long hours and rarely came home before midnight.

He was a sous-chef in an Italian restaurant near Madison Square Park Tower. He only had Sundays off, meaning that you didn’t see each other a lot.

You spent your evenings alone, cooking or heating up the dinner Bucky had prepared earlier for you. You loved being alone, but sometimes you really missed him.

Most of the time, you were too exhausted to wait for him, but this time was different. You were too upset, too nervous to fall asleep.

You had cleaned the whole apartment twice, it was spotless and smelled like citrus and bleach. You were about to scrub the oven again when you heard Bucky’s key in the lock.

A look of surprise crossed his face when he saw you. Surely he hadn’t expected to see you with an apron and rubber gloves at this time of night. You had caught a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror earlier so you knew you looked like a freak.

“Hi, honey!” you shouted, unable to control the volume of your voice. “I cleaned!”

“O-kay…” Bucky dropped his messenger bag on the floor and took a cautious step toward you. He helped you remove the gloves and carelessly threw them behind his shoulder. “No more cleaning, okay?”

You nodded and he pulled you into a hug. He held you close and cradled your head against his shoulder. After a moment, he untied your apron while your arms were still around him.

“Stress cleaning, uh,” he said, pressing a kiss against your hair. “Wanna talk about it?”

You pulled away and sighed dramatically. This made Bucky grin to himself. He took a seat at the breakfast bar and waved his hand toward the other stool.

“Something happened at work today,” you said, briefly meeting his eyes. “I had a meeting with Nick, the-”

“Editor-in-chief, yeah, I remember him,” Bucky said. “Nice guy, a bit scary.”

“He offered to pay for our wedding,” you blurted out.

Bucky recoiled, blinking in surprise.

You took his stunned silence as an invitation to continue. You had already explained that you might lose your job because the magazine’s numbers were not good and Nick would have to fire people.

You told Bucky that Nick had chosen your idea, which was to focus on the so-called ‘normal’ women. You explained that Natasha’s idea was similar to yours and that Nick had decided to combine your ideas into one.

“She thinks we need an emotional story to bring up our numbers and apparently weddings are a good way to catch people’s attention. It sells, as she said.”

“Ah,” Bucky replied flatly, knowing where this was going.

“Yeah, they want to turn our wedding into a series. If our numbers go up, they’ll even give me a promotion.”

“I see,” Bucky said, taking a moment to process the information. “What kind of series? I mean, are they going to follow us around while we plan our wedding?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“So, basically they’re our sponsors-slash-wedding planners,” he mused at loud. “Um, I think I’m okay with that.”

“We’re going to be on the cover of this magazine, Buck. We’re going to let strangers into our lives. Can we handle that?”

Bucky took your hand and kissed your engagement ring. “Doll, I gave you this ring three years ago. I want you to be my wife. We’ve barely saved 5 thousand dollars. This is our chance. I mean… as long as they don’t force us to get married naked in the woods.”

This made you laugh and you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Hearing you laugh made Bucky grin. He leaned forward and kissed you.

“We’ll read the contract, and I’m sure Sam will agree to have a look at it for us, too.”

“Yeah,” you said, your face lightening up. “Sam’s a lawyer, he can help us.”

Bucky jumped off the stool and stood between your parted legs, angling your face up to his. “Ah! Finally, a smile!”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him. “You sure you okay with that?”

“We’ll talk more in the morning, but yes, I am. I know things aren’t the same since I got promoted, but you’ve been so supportive and patient. I love you, doll, and I want you to be happy.”

“I love you, too.”

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” he asked.

No, it wasn’t. You should have told him that Natasha wanted to reunite you with your former childhood best friend, Steve, who was now a famous fashion designer.

Steve used to be more than a friend and Bucky knew all about your crush on him. For the time being, you decided to keep this information to yourself.

“Yeah, let’s go to bed.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took forever to write this part, but here we go. Thank you to everyone who’s still reading this series. I adore you!

 

Steve decided it was time to go back to work. His apartment felt lonely without Carol and after his talk with Peggy he knew he had to find a way to fix the mess his older self had created.

There were many things he should have done differently. Now he had to atone for the way he’d been treating his friends and family. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he wasn’t going to give up.

“New day, clean slate,” Steve repeated his mantra as the elevator slowed to a stop and its doors opened.

He walked into the waiting area where a few models were patiently waiting and noticed that his secretary wasn’t behind her desk. He didn’t mind, things were awkward between them. Well that was mostly because he had had sex with her. At least Asshole Steve had.

“You can’t wait for him in his office,” he heard Wanda say as he turned the corner.

Wanda was standing in front of his office door, blocking another woman from entering. He had never met her before, but perhaps  _Asshole Steve_  knew her. She was his type; beautiful, mysterious, fierce.

“I’m sorry, Mr Rogers,” Wanda promptly apologized with a pained look on her face. “She doesn’t have an appointment. I asked her to wait but-”

“But I have no time to waste waiting with everyone else,” the redhead said, holding her hand out to Steve. “Natasha Romanoff, features assistant at Honeysuckle.”

“Not interested,” Steve replied automatically, shaking his head. “I’m sure you’ve heard a lot of stories about me, but things are going to change around here.”

He was walking into his office when Natasha said your name, stopping him in his tracks. Slowly, he turned to face her again and she grinned, knowing she had his full attention.

It didn’t take her long to convince him. It was particularly easy because Steve wanted -no he  _needed_ \- to make amends, to say sorry and fix his mistakes. Natasha, who excelled at reading people, sensed that Steve was up to something. And whatever it was, she intended to exploit it.

Steve was only thirteen –though he looked much older- and yet he knew Natasha wasn’t being completely honest with him. Thirty-year-old Steve would have known that Honeysuckle’s days were numbered and that he was doing them a favour by accepting the deal.

The deal was that he’d create your wedding dress as well as two additional dresses for your bridesmaids. Natasha had offered him half a million dollars, which wasn’t much considering Steve made over 3 million dollars an hour.

Steve didn’t care about money. Brock and his lawyers would be upset, but  _he_  couldn’t care less.

But there was still one teeny-tiny itsy-bitsy problem. Thirty-year-old Steve was a fashion genius. His creations were a reflection of his life, of his trauma. His style was unique, daring, he didn’t stick to the rules. Rules were meant to be broken.

Thirteen-year-old Steve, on the other hand, had not yet mastered proportions.

He had no idea what to do. He didn’t know a single thing about fashion. And yet, he agreed to make your dress. Seriously, how hard could it be?

Natasha told him that she’d send the contract to his lawyers before the end of the day. Steve nodded. It sounded terribly grown up.

*

Mondays were always hectic, but today you had trouble focusing on your work. Your usual morning meeting seemed to go on forever and you couldn’t wait to go home.

Your morning passed in a blur of half-assed proofreading and editing. Natasha had been absent all morning which you found extremely odd. In all the years you’d known her, she had never taken a day off.

“Lunch time,” Scott singsang, setting down a steaming bowl of pasta from the food truck. You usually ate in the cafeteria, but on Mondays you needed something that you could eat at your desk. You both started eating. “I saw Romanoff in the lobby.”

“Her majesty is finally gracing us with her presence,” you replied, lounging back in your chair. Scott let out an amused scoff.

The slapping sound of a stack of papers hitting your desk startled you. You turned in your chair, your eyes widening when you came face-to-face with Natasha.

“Glad to know you think so highly of me,” she spoke, her hands resting on her hips.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t me-”

She waved her hand dismissively. “This is the final version of the contract,” she said, pointing to the stack of papers she’d tossed on your desk. “Have a lawyer check it over. Then get it right back to me.”

You tried to say something, but Natasha didn’t let you speak.

“Steve Rogers will join us this Friday to sign the documents. I want you and your fiancé in the conference room at 9 a.m.” She began walking back to her office, leaving you speechless.

You stayed frozen in silence for a few seconds before Scott gently called out your name. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and said you were fine.

But you were not fine. Steve had agreed to the deal.

Steve was a successful entrepreneur, a billionaire, someone who had the power to change the world. And yet he had agreed to make your wedding dress for less than a million dollars. It made no sense.

You didn’t know much about Steve, not anymore at least, but one thing you knew for sure, Steve wasn’t the altruistic type. He would have never agreed unless there was something in it for him.

The memory of the last time you’d seen him came rushing back. His lips, soft and firm, against your own, the taste of cheap beer and pretzels. It had been over ten years, but it still made your stomach flutter.

You were engaged to Bucky, and Steve knew that, but you couldn’t help thinking that it was just a plan to win you back. Were you going to fall in love with him again?

No, you’d never do that to Bucky. He was your future.

That afternoon, you carefully read the contract and took a few notes before you headed to Bucky’s restaurant. You had to tell him about Steve’s involvement in Natasha’s project, aka your wedding.

You didn’t want to bother him while he was at work, but he wouldn’t be home until eleven at best. You would both be too tired to talk.

The restaurant was closed on Mondays, but the team was busy stocktaking, brainstorming new recipes and making sure everything was ready for the next day.

You asked Shuri, the new chef, if you could talk to Bucky for a minute and she told you to wait in the restaurant’s main room while she looked for him. You sat at the bar, set the contract in front of you and waited.

Bucky’s face lit up when he saw you. “Hey! What’re you doing here?”

You returned his kiss and tried, without success, to control your racing heart. God, you were so nervous!

Bucky took the stool beside you, his thigh rubbing up against yours as he moved closer to you.

“Natasha gave me the final version of the contract,” you said, handing him the book. “We have a meeting Friday at 9 a.m. We’ll sign the papers and talk about the next step. It shouldn’t be too long.”

“Okay,” Bucky replied, quickly flipping through the pages of the contract. “Are you dropping this off at Sam’s office?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I just wanted to make sure you were still on board. There’s something I haven’t told you.”

His eyebrows pinched together at your comment. You bit your bottom lip, reluctant to tell him the story, but knowing you owed him the whole truth.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” you admitted, folding your hands in your lap. “We’re about to become the protagonists of a human interest story. Our fears, our doubts, our achievements, our struggles… we’ll have to share everything with potentially millions of people.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “Admittedly, that’s not what I had in mind when I proposed, but we’ll have a beautiful wedding and you’ll keep your job.”

“There’s something else,” you continued. Taking a deep breath, you decided it was better to rip off the Band-Aid. “Steve is going to create my wedding dress.”

You mentally cringed as you watched the expression on Bucky’s face morph from mild curiosity to angry astonishment. He kept his eyes closed for a moment before he started blinking rapidly.

“Steve?” he croaked.

“Yeah.”

“Steve Rogers?”

“Yes, Bucky.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you said. You were threading on thin ice and you knew it. “Natasha saw us on the cover of a gossip magazine the day after we ran into Steve at the restaurant. She asked me if I knew him and I told her we used to be friends so she asked him to design my dress because he’s popula-”

Bucky straightened up abruptly. “Wait, you knew. You knew that Steve was going to be involved in this when you told me about the deal.”

“No,” you quickly replied. “I knew Natasha was going to ask him, but I didn’t think he’d agree.”

Bucky scoffed.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure,” you continued. Reaching up, you ran your fingers through his hair. He didn’t move away, but a muscle in his jaw ticked. “I know you’re still upset that Steve stopped talking to us.”

“We were best friends one day and strangers the next,” Bucky whispered, then he turned his head to look at you. He looked so vulnerable, so lost. It broke your heart. “Why?”

You considered his question for a moment. “Sometimes there’s no reason, it just happens.”

“It sucks.”

“I know, but I’m here.” You pressed a kiss to his temple before you pulled back. “I’m your best friend, right?”

A small smile appeared on his face as he brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles. “Who else, doll?”

“I dunno,” you gave a one-shoulder shrug, “Sam.”

“Sam’s just an acquaintance,” he replied with a silly grin.

You laughed at his antics before you took on a more serious expression. “This situation isn’t ideal, Bucky, I know that and I wish things were different but maybe it’s time to put this feud behind us and move on. It’s not healthy to hold grudges.”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right, but I still really want to punch him in the face.”

“Me too,” you admitted with a soft sigh.

After a short moment of silence, Bucky slid down off the stool and helped you off yours. He picked up the contract from the bar and tucked it under his arm.

“Let me read this first,” he said. “I’ll drop it off at Sam’s office tomorrow morning. But I need to read it first.”

“Of course. I’m sorry for coming here unannounced. I mean you’re working and… well I didn’t want to have this conversation at midnight like last time.”

Bucky looked deep in thought before he smiled at you. It didn’t reach his eyes, which were sad and troubled. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned that. It wasn’t his fault, he was at work. But then again, it wasn’t your fault either.

“Let’s go home,” he finally said.

“But your shift isn’t over.”

“I’ll figure something out. I want to be home with you tonight,” he said, cupping your face. “Wait for me here, I won’t be long.”

When he came back a few minutes later, he was already wearing his coat and carrying his satchel. He took your hand and led you out of the empty restaurant.

It was past seven when you left the subway station. Bucky’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders while you hugged his waist. Your free hand reached up, lacing your fingers through his hand that hung from your shoulder. It was silent, peaceful, comfortable.

You stopped at a takeout restaurant and ordered some food before you headed back to your apartment. You just wanted something simple to eat while you curled up on the sofa, your legs thrown over Bucky’s lap.

“I wish we could do that more often,” Bucky spoke after a long moment.

“Me too,” you said, keeping your eyes trained on the food in front of you.

You heard, more than saw, Bucky set his plate on the floor at his feet. He hooked a hand beneath your knees and tugged you closer. You let out a small shriek as he suddenly pulled you into his arms. By some miracle, you were still holding your plate, which Bucky picked up and placed on the floor next to his.

“I love you.” He brought a hand up to cup your cheek. “I don’t say it enough, but I do. And I wish I could spend all my evenings with you.”

“I know.” You placed a kiss in his palm. “Don’t feel guilty, Buck. I love you, too.”

His blue eyes were dark, clouded with desire as he untangled himself from you and rose from the sofa. He held out his hand and you took it, allowing him to bring you upright. There was something exhilarating about the way he slowly walked backwards, his eyes still locked on yours.

He reached up to grab the handle of the large cabinet which concealed the Murphy bed. You giggled when he failed to open it. He looked at you, his eyes sparkling with mirth before you both started laughing.

“I hate this fucking bed,” he grumbled.

*

The next morning, Bucky read the contract and jotted down some notes next to the ones you had already made. Then he stopped by Sam’s office and thanked him for going over the contract. Sam replied he only did it for you, which prompted Bucky to look at him and roll his eyes.

Ever since he got that promotion to sous-chef, Bucky had been working long hours, including weekends. You had been incredibly supportive and he thought himself lucky to have you at his side, but he knew that you sometimes felt lonely.

It was the price of success and you were both paying it.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully until Friday. Sam couldn’t make it to the meeting, but he had sent his associate, a woman you had never met before. She was already there when you arrived.

You dropped off your things at your desk before you made your way to the conference room, a glass room in the middle of the open plan office.

Steve Rogers stood by the water fountain, holding a plastic cup in his hand as he watched people walk past him. He looked shy, withdrawn, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. You had seen him on many talk shows and he always looked so confident, walking across the stage like he owned the place.

You took a deep, calming breath before you walked over to him. “Good morning.”

He looked up at the sound of your voice and his face lit up. You had not expected this reaction and stood frozen for a couple of seconds, your eyes fixed on the man who looked nothing like the kid you used to know.

After some polite greetings, you both stepped into the empty conference room. You barely looked at Steve as he took a seat beside you.

“Where’s Bucky?”

You squirmed a bit in your chair. “Um, he had to get a visitor’s pass. He won’t be long.”  _Hopefully_ , you added under your breath.

Steve nodded. Another long minute passed before he cleared his throat.

“It must be nice to work here.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You swallowed tensely, aware of his eyes on you. “Do I have something on my face?”

He looked away from you, a dark blush crept up his neck and into his face. “No, sorry. It’s just… you look so,” he paused, trying to find the right word, “grown-up.”

“Is that a euphemism for old?”

“No! No, I didn’t mean- well you  _are_  older, but you’re not  _old_  and,” he trailed off, his face cringing with embarrassment. He hung his head and let out a short sigh before he looked up at you through his lashes. “You look good.”

You shook your head in amused confusion. “Thanks.”

“So, um, what does Bucky do for a living?”

“He’s a cook,” you replied proudly. “Actually he doesn’t work far from where you live.”

“You know where I live?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at his tone. “Steve, everyone knows you own half of Madison Square Park Tower.”

He looked bashful, which you found slightly odd. He swept his hair back, a nervous habit he had picked up as a kid.  _At least some things never change_ , you remarked to yourself, smiling fondly.

Steve’s eyes met yours and he excitedly bounced in his seat. “Hey, you guys should come over to my place next Saturday! We’ll eat pizza, watch a few movies… like before.”

You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. Steve Rogers had invited you to a slumber party. Part of you wanted to laugh, you were not thirteen anymore, but he looked genuinely excited. It was kind of cute.

“I don’t know, Steve.”

It was a recipe for disaster. Luckily, your conversation ended when Natasha, Bucky and a few other people, whom you assumed were lawyers, entered the room.

Steve stood up to greet Bucky, but the latter went straight to you and gave you a long, passionate kiss. Steve felt a tug in his chest, a sudden anger.

He might have been a jerk and stopped hanging out with his friends, but what Bucky did to him was far worse. They used to tell each other everything. Bucky knew Steve was in love with you, and that didn’t stop him from asking you to marry him.

_Pals before Gals, my ass!_

Bucky greeted Steve with a curt nod as he took the empty seat beside you. Steve didn’t say a word during the meeting, he didn’t really listen to Natasha or the group of lawyers. His eyes remained fixed on your joined hands, Bucky’s thumb running idly across your knuckles.

He had no idea how long he’d sat there, angrily staring at your hands, but the sounds of chairs being scooted back pulled him out of his thoughts.

He glanced around, a little lost and confused, until he met your worried eyes. Everyone had left except you, Steve and Bucky. You had all signed the contract. No turning back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I spaced out a little,” Steve replied with a huff.

He tried to catch Bucky’s eye, but your fiancé purposely looked away from him and that angered Steve even more. So he did something stupid. He opened his big, dumb mouth.

“Oh, by the way, Bucky!” he exclaimed, trying to sound detached. “I invited you both over for dinner next Saturday. We'll catch up and all. Maybe you'll even tell me how you two ended up together." 

Steve left the room with a little smirk. He understood something at that moment. Yes, he had a lot to atone for, but maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault. Maybe he still deserved a happy ending.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, read it and you’ll understand why it took so long. It’s confrontation time! Some questions are answered yay! That said, I’m sorry it took so long. Also spot the quotes from the movie ;)

 

The following Saturday, Steve woke up at dawn and started cleaning up everything in sight. It was new to him. From a young age, he had to help with chores in any way he could.

Chores became a daily part of his life; setting the table, doing the dishes, throwing out the trash and cleaning his own bedroom, but he had never scrubbed the toilet before.

Once he was done, he took a step back and smiled. The sight of the spotless apartment gave him a deep sense of satisfaction. Then he went grocery shopping and bought all kinds of candy, drinks, chips and salsas.

At home, he tore open the bags of candy and emptied their contents into the large porcelain bowls he had found in the cupboard. The candy bars were laid out on a long silver platter while the crystal wine pitchers were filled with orange juice or soda.

It was nearly seven when F.R.I.D.A.Y. told him that his guests were in the elevator. Steve rushed over to the front door and glanced through the peephole. He smiled when he saw you exit the elevator, Bucky following closely behind.

You were arguing; you because Bucky had refused to wear a tie and Bucky because he didn’t want to be here.

Steve still had mixed feelings about your upcoming wedding. He was still in love with you, nothing had changed. He was just a thirteen-year-old boy trapped in the body of a thirty-year-old man. And it hurt to know you had chosen Bucky.

Steve was furious because Bucky knew how much Steve loved you. He knew, and yet he asked you to marry him. Betrayal wasn’t a big enough word.

Revenge, on the other hand, sounded just about right and Steve started thinking of ways to hurt Bucky. Obviously, he could have tried to seduce you, but Steve doubted he could pull it off. He was good-looking, sure, but he lacked the skills to carry it off.

But he reminded himself that you had never loved him, that you had run away from his birthday party when Brock told you that Steve wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with you.

No, he couldn’t do that to Bucky. He knew first-hand how cruel and painful was. His own father had abandoned his family for a pretty twentysomething. And even though he had promised himself that he wouldn’t end up like his father, he slowly did.

_Like father, like son._

But it wasn’t too late to make things right. Somehow you had agreed to come to his apartment, and Bucky was there, too.  

A knock at the door pulled him out of his reverie. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Welcome,” he said with a big smile before he nodded towards Bucky’s old Henley. “Thanks for dressing up, by the way.”

He was happy to see he still was pretty decent at making passive-aggressive comments. That was more his thing than adultery anyway.

Bucky didn’t reply. He turned his head in your direction and cast an exasperated look at you that spoke volumes. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“C’mon in, I’ll give you a tour of the apartment,” Steve continued, undeterred.

Steve gave you and Bucky the grand tour of the house which included the four guest rooms, the pool, the training room, the library, his own walk-in closet and finally his bedroom. Each time you walked into a room, it felt like you were rediscovering the meaning of the word sophisticated.

Everything was either beige, white or taupe, which didn’t give off a very friendly vibe. It was gorgeous, but it lacked a homey feeling.

“It’s beautiful, Steve,” you said as you entered his bedroom.

Bucky dug his elbow into your side and when you met his eyes, he nodded toward the ceiling. You both held back a snicker, but it still caught Steve’s attention. You pulled yourself together and cleared your throat before you gestured toward the mirror above the bed.

“Nice mirror,” you said with a knowing grin.

Steve sat on the bed and looked up at the mirror with a puppy-like confused look on his face. “Yeah, that’s unusual.”

You shared an amused look with Bucky, knowing full well a mirror on the ceiling meant sex and narcissism. Steve seemed oblivious to your little teasing and, instead, ushered you into the living room. The view was breath-taking and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction.

You faltered in your steps as you looked around the living room. It was set up in a huge open floor plan with minimalist décor and neutral colour scheme. It was all about comfort and convenience.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, but what really caught your attention were the window seats that ran all around the room. You could see yourself sitting there with a good book and a cup of something warm, enjoying the impressive view.

Even Bucky who had done his best to look nonchalant was looking around with wide eyes.

“Pretty good, uh?” Steve asked with a large smile. He then moved closer to the sofas and gestured at the food on the coffee table. “I took your favorite.”

You turned around and saw the plethora of food Steve had bought for the party. A giggle escaped your lips when you saw that he had poured what looked like soda in a crystal wine pitcher.

“You didn’t have to buy all this,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Oh, razzles! I haven’t had razzles in years.”

Steve’s face lit up as he sat next to you. “Remember, they’re both a candy and a gum.”

“That’s incredible,” you said, your voice teasing.

Bucky watched as you and Steve laughed together as if the last 17 years never happened. When he saw you lay your hand on Steve’s arm, he grew more agitated and quickly tried to create a diversion.

He took one of the glasses on the table and waved it under Steve’s nose. Steve froze mid-laugh and looked up at him. “I’ll take some wine,” Bucky said with a faux friendly smile. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Steve replied. He wiped his hands on his jeans and got to his feet. “We’re adults now, we can drink alcohol.”

There was a trap door in the kitchen that led to a wine cellar. Not knowing how many bottles he’d need, he grabbed the first four and an electric corkscrew before he headed back to the living room.

Bucky was now sitting next to you, forcing Steve to take a seat on the opposite sofa. He took the bottle Steve handed him and audibly gasped as he read the label. It was a ’90 Romanée-Conti, and the sommelier at his restaurant would later confirm that it was a $15,000 bottle of wine.

Bucky opened the bottle hoping Steve wouldn’t realize what he’d given him. You shook your head when Bucky asked if you wanted a glass, but he insisted that you should try it. Steve didn’t want wine, said it smelled like rotten fruit and that he’d rather drink soda.

After that, a long silence stretched between the three of you. Knowing the evening would be awkward and long, you had prepared beforehand, choosing a few topics to talk about but Steve broke the silence first.

“How long have you guys been engaged?” he asked, popping a few M&Ms into his mouth.

“Three years,” you replied.

Steve’s eyes widened for a second. He didn’t know anything about marriage or relationships, but it seemed a little long.

“We were trying to save money,” you explained, “but New York’s expensive.”

Steve nodded in agreement even though he only had a vague idea of what it was like.

“We’re selling your mom’s house,” Bucky chimed in. He drained the last of his wine and reached for the bottle before he spoke again. “It could have helped us financially, but no one’s interested.”

Steve had that kicked puppy look on his face again. “You’re selling my house?”

You knew that after what Steve had done to his mom he didn’t deserve your sympathy, but that look on his face made your heart soft. You sent Bucky a glare for bringing it up, but he was too busy finishing his second glass of wine to notice you.

“When your mom died, she gave us her house. She put in her will that we should sell it and buy our own place. That’s what we’ve been trying to do, but the house is in pretty bad shape.”

Your explanation eased Steve somewhat. He looked down at his hands in his lap and nodded his head distractedly. You mentally patted yourself on the back for defusing the situation when Bucky opened his mouth.

“But then again, you never cared about your mom.”

“Bucky!”

He turned to you, his eyes a little glassy. “What? It’s true. He never visited her when she was sick, he never sent flowers, or called. Hell, he didn’t even show up at the funeral. He was partying in St Barts with his side chick.”

“Bucky, STOP!” you shouted.

Bucky poured himself another glass of wine, his hands shaking with rage. “Whatever.”

Steve blanched at Bucky’s words. He had abandoned his mother when she needed him most. Besides, Peggy must have been pregnant with Carol when his mother died. He had cheated on his pregnant wife. He hated himself so much.

He turned to look at you, his heart breaking when he saw the anger and sadness on your face. You just wanted to make peace with your friend.

Steve cleared his throat. “I know I wasn’t the best son, or friend. I hurt you both and I’ll never apologize enough. I wish I had done things differently, I wish my mom was still here. She’d send me to bed without dessert for the rest of my life,” he said with a watery smile. “I’m going to change.”

He looked up to meet your eyes and relief washed over him when you smiled at him. Bucky rolled his eyes. This was just another empty promise made by a junkie, a cheater, a jerk. Empty words, just like last time.

“Cheers,” he said with a snarl, downing his third or fourth glass of wine.

You turned the conversation away from his mom, hoping to clear the air of the obvious tension. You asked Steve what it was like to live in a gigantic apartment and you both laughed quietly as he answered.

From there, the conversation flowed easily. Steve asked you why you had chosen to work as an editor and you asked about his job. He tried his best not to look clueless.

After a moment, you turned back to Bucky, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, and realized he had fallen asleep on the sofa. He was still clutching his empty glass.

“How much wine did you have?” you asked Steve as you looked over at the two empty bottles of wine sitting on the floor.

“Um, none,” he cocked a brow at you, “why?”

You took the glass from Bucky’s hand and placed it on the table. “I haven’t touched my glass.”

“He drank two bottles?!” Steve gasped. “Is he gonna be okay? Should we take him to the hospital?”

He watched you run your fingers through Bucky’s long hair, combing the locks away from his face with a pained, yet tender, look in your eyes.

“He’s going to have a killer headache in the morning, but he’ll be all right.” Bucky looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing. You took a deep breath. “It’s my fault. He was nervous, he didn’t want to come here, but I told him it was time to make peace with you.”

“That’s what I want too,” Steve replied quietly.

The room fell silent, the two of you were lost in your own thoughts. You both knew the party was over.

“I think we should go home,” you said.

Sighing forcefully, you buried your face in your hands and remained motionless for a couple of seconds. You had no idea how you were going to carry a semi-conscious Bucky down to the lobby, into an Uber and up the stairs to your apartment.

“You can stay here tonight,” Steve told you, seemingly reading your thoughts. “You can stay in the guest room. To be honest, I was kinda hoping you guys would stay.”

You knew you should have refused, but it seemed like the best thing to do. Steve had four guest rooms and they all looked incredibly comfortable.

“Yeah, okay,” you said with a small smile. “Thank you, I promise we’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning.”

“It’s no trouble.” Steve shrugged.

He snaked his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, holding him in place as he hoisted him against his side. Bucky walked like a puppet, blindly following Steve into the guest room. You had to admit that it was a bit embarrassing to watch your drunk fiancé stagger across the living room.

Once Steve placed Bucky on the bed, you removed his shoes and decided to let him keep his jeans on. Bucky grunted in protest and curled himself up in the foetal position. You picked up a blanket and draped it over him.

Steve walked into the master bathroom and came back with a glass of water and two pills. He left the glass and the pills on the nightstand and followed you out of the room.

“Thanks, Steve,” you whispered. “I don’t think I could have carried him myself.”

He smiled at you. “It’s usually the other way around. It’s nice to know I can help my best friend for a change.”

His words made you think. Steve used to pick up fights with pretty much anyone, but as a sickly, skinny kid, he got his ass handed to him more than once. Bucky finished Steve’s fights, though he wasn’t much of a fighter, he did it to help his best friend.

It wasn’t unusual to see them walking home from school with a black eye or a busted lip.

But his words surprised you because he made it sound like they were still friends, like the last seventeen years had never happened. It put a smile on your face. Maybe Steve wasn’t so bad after all.

You sat on the sofa and poured yourself a glass of orange juice in a wine glass. Steve sat next to you and took his glass of orange soda.

“Thanks for letting us stay, Steve. And thanks for the invite. All these snacks and drinks, they would have made 13-year-old us scream like lunatics.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a smile. “Remember when we used to have sleepovers? We pretended we were roommates. To be honest, I’m disappointed. I thought things would be different. Being an adult isn’t that great.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and raised your glass in a silent toast. He lifted his glass and you both slowly sipped your drinks.

“How’s the wedding planning coming along?” Steve asked. He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked.

The question caught you by surprise and your fingers started fiddling with the stem of your wine glass. “Oh, uh, fine. We agreed on a non-religious ceremony and Natasha’s pretty excited because it means we’ll have to come up with our own wedding script. She’s a little too excited about this, but I guess it’s a good thing.”

“She’s basically your wedding planner.”

“Yeah, and she can be a real pain in the ass. She knows someone who works at the Plaza, says there’s an opening for us in November, but we want to do this in George and Winnie’s backyard.” Upon seeing Steve’s wide-eyed reaction you let out an embarrassed laugh. “I know we’re all going to freeze to death but I don’t care. Our first kiss was on that old wooden table they keep in their backyard.”

It dawned on Steve that he had no idea how you two became more than friends. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear your answer, but he had to know.

“How did you become a couple?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It came pretty naturally.”

Steve listened carefully while you told him your story.

After college, Bucky spent a year abroad in Switzerland. He was the second roast cook at some popular restaurant. You, on the other hand, had decided to move to Manhattan where you found a job as a waitress until you finally landed that job at Honeysuckle.

Bucky and his girlfriend, Dot, didn’t believe in long distance relationships but she had been Bucky’s first real girlfriend and their breakup had affected him deeply. Eventually, he returned home. He loved Switzerland but he missed his friends and family.

The year he came back, he invited you over for Thanksgiving along with Sarah who had not heard from her son since he graduated high school. You and Bucky kissed for the first time that night, it was shy and awkward but it felt like the beginning of something great.

Steve nodded slowly, processing what you were telling him. “And we never saw each other? Not even once?”

You shook your head. “Not after Jack Rollins’ graduation party.”

“I don’t even know him,” he mumbled to himself.

“What? You don’t remember Rollins?” you let out a startled laugh. “Tall dude, kinda looked like Brock, followed you like your shadow,” you pressed, trying to jog his memory.

“Wait, why was he following me around?”

“Because you were the most popular guy in school,” you said with a frown. How could he not remember this? “He was an ass. Actually, all your friends were jerks but, at least you got your wish: you were Brock Rumlow’s best friend. Still are, apparently.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to think. If his friends were jerks then why did he hang out with them? Sure he wanted to be cool and loved, but he wouldn’t have sacrificed his best friends to join Brock’s crew. Right?

“I really don’t understand why you’re still friends with him. Do you remember the promise you made me that night?” you continued, your laugh full of amused bitterness. “No, of course you don’t.”

“I wish I could.”

“Oh, please.” A puff of air escaped your lips as you rolled your eyes.

“What happened that night?”

“Never mind.”

“No, I want to know.”

“Just drop it.”

“C’mon, tell me,” he whined.

Then he started poking your shoulder repeatedly. He used to do that when you were kids and it always made your teeth grind. You swatted his hand away and turned to him.

“WE KISSED,” you barked. “There, you happy?”

The look on Steve’s face might have been comical in some other circumstances. He was staring at you wide-eyed, his mouth partially open.

He looked genuinely surprised and it didn’t make any sense to you. Granted, you had both had a couple of beers and that kiss happened over a decade ago, but still…how could he have forgotten about this?

“We kissed,” he repeated, needing confirmation.

“Yeah.”

“Tongue?”

“Steve!” You glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said with a little grin. But then it dawned on him he couldn’t remember that kiss  _at all_  and his smile fell.

“It wasn’t just the kiss, Steve. That night I told you what happened the day of your thirteenth birthday party. When Brock and his friends crashed your party and you went downstairs with a pack of beer, remember that?”

“I remember it like it was-”  _last month_  “-yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, while you were all downstairs, Brock came back and cornered me in the kitchen. He asked if I was still a virgin and if I wanted him to take care of it. I was 13, I was terrified. I didn’t feel safe at your house so I left. And then you started ignoring me.”

All colour drained from his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought – I mean I assumed-”

“Yeah, I know,” you cut him off. “You already told me. You were waiting for me in the closet. You were playing that game, Seven Minutes in Heaven, and when I left, Brock told you I didn’t like you back. And that’s fine, it’s just a misunderstanding, but you let things escalate. You just stopped being my friend and you never spoke to me again after that.”

“And what did I say?” Steve asked. “When you told me all this, what did I do?”

“You said you were going to ruin Brock’s life, make him pay.” You paused, then heaved a sad sigh before you continued, “But he’s part-owner of your brand, he makes millions of dollars,” you shrugged. “You did nothing. He has a pretty good life.”

Steve hesitated before he took your hand in his. “There’s a lot of things I don’t remember. It’d take too long to explain and you might not even believe me, but I swear I wish I could remember that night. I’ll make things right. I promise.”

You had heard that exact same promise before, but this time you weren’t a naïve high schooler. People rarely keep their promises. C’est la vie.

“It doesn’t matter,” you shrugged, “it was a long time ago.”

“It matters to me.”

You looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “I should go check on Bucky.”

Steve let go of your hand. He had been so stunned he had almost forgotten Bucky. He needed time to process what he was feeling, what he should do.

“Thanks again for tonight,” you said as you pushed yourself off the sofa. “Goodnight, Steve.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this series isn’t dead. In this chapter the reader and Steve discuss her wedding dress and I really wanted to give you a dress you could picture in your heads. So that meant doing a lot of research to find a cut that would flatter all body types and a colour that would look good on all skin tones. It kind of smothered my muse, hence the long break. I hope you enjoy this :’)

 

“You fell asleep on his couch,” Sam repeated, shaking his head with a bewildered look on his face. A second later, he began laughing hysterically.  

Bucky looked around the bar, smiling awkwardly at the patrons who were staring at them. With a cringe, he took a large gulp of his lukewarm beer. Sam expertly dodged the peanut Bucky threw at him.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” Sam stopped laughing. “You drank two bottles of fancy-ass wine, passed out on the couch and let your girl alone with a super-hot billionaire.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened,” Bucky grumbled.

“You’re an idiot.”

Bucky couldn’t help but agree with him.

Sam was Bucky’s only friend. They had met a few years ago when Bucky was a rotisseur, a chef in charge of roasted meats. Sam kept sending his dish back, saying it wasn’t properly cooked, until Bucky had enough and served him raw lamb with a little note that said  _‘cook it yourself’_.

It hadn’t been professional, but it had made him feel a lot better. Somehow they became friends after that. Go figure…  

“You could have married her three years ago,” Sam continued with a pointed look.

“A City Hall wedding?” Bucky scoffed. “No, she deserves better than that.”

Sam frowned at him. “You need to get off your high horse, man. I got married at City Hall. Granted it’s less flamboyant than a fairy tale wedding, but it doesn’t matter when you’re in love. You only need each other.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I work 12 hours a day, six days a week, Sam. We rarely see each other and we live in a crappy studio apartment. The least I can do is give her a perfect wedding.”

“Whatever you say,” Sam shrugged. He was tired of having the same conversation again and again. “That deal you made with her company… I told you it was too good to be true.”

“You said it was legit,” Bucky reminded him.

“Yeah, it is, but I don’t think you’ve thought this through. They offered to pay for your wedding if Steve Rogers agreed to create your girl’s wedding dress. Rogers said yes, and now their numbers are going up-”

“But it’s a good thing. She’ll keep her job and we’ll get married,” Bucky interrupted him.

“Dude, there’s a billboard in Times Square with your face on it,” Sam continued, undeterred. Bucky whined, he had seen the ad. It wasn’t exactly low-key. “You three are everywhere; Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Youtube… Rogers gave interviews to Good Morning America, Fallon and Ellen. The entire country knows about you, your fiancée and your former childhood best friend turned superstar.”

“You’re right, it’s a little crazy right now,” Bucky admitted. “But it won’t last. People will find a better story. She’s happy. That’s all that matters.”

Sam could have argued that you didn’t look happy the last time he saw you. In fact, you looked tired, stressed and a little disappointed. But he knew better than to tell a man he couldn’t make his girlfriend happy.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Bucky had no idea what he was doing. Things had been crazy lately, and he couldn’t deny that it was strange to share his thoughts and memories with complete strangers. It was part of the deal. Nothing was private anymore.

“A girl asked for my autograph yesterday,” Bucky revealed, a small smile on his lips. Sam raised a brow at that. “It took me completely by surprise, I just wrote ‘BUCKY’ in capital letters on a blank piece of paper.”

Sam choked on his beer, and coughed several times as the liquid fizzed out of his nose. Bucky pushed a napkin across the bar as Sam’s whole face scrunched up in a mix of pain and laughter.

“That fucking hurts,” Sam said, his eyes shiny with tears. Bucky looked strangely proud of himself. “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

With a mouthful of beer, Bucky got off the stool and threw two twenties on the counter. He took his jacket from the bar and made a show of crossing his fingers at Sam’s comment.

“Ass,” Sam countered, following him out of the bar.

*

Today was the day, your first Bridal appointment. You were beyond nervous, and the fact that this was all business wasn’t helping your nerves. Natasha was sitting next to you, typing away on her tablet while on the phone with Nick Fury. You wished you were that good at multitasking.

Things were moving fast. Natasha had already booked a band, and hired a photographer and a videographer. You were on board with everything, and even pitched the idea of a karaoke entertainment at the reception. She called you a genius and wrote it in her little notebook.

The magazine was thriving, the numbers growing. The first article they published was an exclusive interview of Steve Rogers and a little interview of you and Bucky –to get to know  _the happy couple_.

The following month they revealed that the ceremony would take place at Bucky’s childhood home. It was something you had both agreed upon a long time ago, and Nick thought it matched the whole reunion theme.

Sometimes it felt like it was more their wedding than yours, but you thought I’d be rude to complain since they were paying for the entire ceremony.

“M. Rogers will see you now,” Steve’s assistant appeared before you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Natasha waved Scott closer. He was standing near the elevator, FaceTiming with his daughter. He saw Natasha, nodded, and quickly wrapped up his conversation. The three of you followed the assistant to Steve’s office.

As soon as Natasha stepped into his office, she began directing everyone into position. Scott and you got so used to being bossed around that you both complied without question.

“Boys, move the couch closer to the window,” she said, looking around the office. “I prefer natural light for the pictures.” Then she turned to you. “This place is a mess, let’s tidy up.”

Steve grumbled something under his breath that made Scott laugh. Natasha gave him a sharp look and they both returned to their task. Once the place looked decent enough, you took a seat on the sofa next to Steve.

Natasha was telling Scott what to do –the kind of pictures she wanted for the Instagram, Twitter and Facebook as well as some pictures for the next article. Scott nodded while he adjusted the camera settings.

“Is she always like this?” Steve whispered in your ear.

A shiver ran down your spine. “Yes, she’s the boss,” you replied with a small laugh.

“She’s scary.”

You were both laughing quietly when you heard the sound of a camera shutter. Steve shifted awkwardly as he met your gaze, his face flushed red. You understood his discomfort.

“A little warning would have been nice,” you told your co-workers.

“Sorry, but the picture looks great,” Scott said, giving you a thumbs up.

“All right, we only have an hour so listen carefully,” Natasha began. “We’re going to take a few pictures and two can pretend you’re working on the dress. Act natural, but don’t forget to smile and  _don’t_  look at us. Then we’ll leave you two alone so you can start working on the dress. Questions?”

You both shook your heads. “No, we’re good.”

“Perfect,” she clapped her hands once, “let’s get to work!”

It was a little strange to pose without making it look like you were posing. Natasha was shouting directions at you and Steve while you tried to smile at each other.

_Sit straight!_

_Steve, you’re hiding her face._

_Hold that position, the light is perfect._

Finally, after twenty agonizing minutes, she announced that she had everything she needed. You sent up a silent prayer when she left the room. Scott packed up his camera and hurried out of the room when Natasha called out his name.

You slumped back against the sofa and sighed. Steve let out a small laugh as he sank into the cushions. He turned his head to look at you and smiled.

His smile caught you off guard. In that moment, he looked exactly like the boy you used to love and it made your chest tighten painfully. Life could be so cruel sometimes.

“We should probably start working on your dress,” he said, sensing your sudden anguish. He straightened up and fiddled with the sketch pad and mechanical pencil, giving you some time to pull yourself together. “So, do you have an idea of what you’re looking for?”

You sat on the edge of your seat. “Not really. I don’t know how these things work. How are we going to do this?”

Steve was only thirteen, though he looked like he was in his early thirties. He didn’t know anything about fashion, but it was his job and he had to do it right. He had gathered as much information as he possible on Bridal appointments.  _Internet, so helpful!_

“We can look at some wedding dresses,” he told you, sliding a few magazines toward you. “Tell me what you like and I’ll make a sketch. Then my team will make a muslin. It’s just a mock-up. We’ll add the details later. How does that sound?”

He caught your eyes and saw the look of relief on your face. “Sounds great.”

You slowly flipped through the pages of the first magazine, pausing occasionally to show him what you didn’t like. You didn’t want to wear a crinoline, it made the skirt too poofy. The princess style looked beautiful on these models but you didn’t think it matched your personality, and it seemed really unpractical.

Steve listened carefully, jotting down notes in his notebook. “How do you feel about a mermaid-style dress? Remember when your mom took us to the open air theatre? We saw the Little Mermaid and you said it was the best movie you’d ever seen.”

“Yeah.” You giggled. “We were what? Nine, ten years old?”  

“Something like that,” Steve replied with a fond smile.

“Well, I hate to disappoint my nine-year-old self, but I think I’d prefer something a little more like the Muses in Hercules.” You turned the page, only to be distracted by a stunning gown. “Like this one!”

The dress fit closely, hugging the model’s curves in an elegant yet sensual way. It looked right out of a peplum movie.

“Oh yeah, that’s a um…” Steve closed his eyes shut and tried to remember the name of this particular type of dress. “It’s a sheath column dress!” he exclaimed with a huge triumphant smile.

“I like that,” you said, oblivious to his sudden outburst. “Do you think it’d look good on me?”

“Absolutely,” he said a little too quickly, then he cleared his throat and gave you a sheepish smile. “We have your measurements, it will look perfect.”

You made some modifications to the dress in the magazine. With Steve’s help, you chose a boat neckline instead of the heart shape neckline featured on the model.

You hesitated between two colours; alabaster which according to Steve would look good on anyone, and diamond white which was the perfect colour for an outdoor wedding.

“Silk is a good choice,” Steve approved while he finished his sketch. “You might be a little cold though, but we’ll figure something out.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” you said with a wave of your hand, “Natasha has already ordered ten outdoor heaters. It’ll feel like we’re on a tropical island.” Your laughter died in your throat when Steve showed you what your dress would look like. “Steve… that’s…. wow.”

He looked at his drawing with furrowed brows. “I think I messed up the proportions but-”

“It’s gorgeous,” you interrupted him. “I love it!” You took the sketch pad from him to get a better look. This was your dress. Your wedding dress. It all seemed so real now, it made the butterflies in your stomach dance. “So, it’s happening. In six months I’m going to be Mrs Barnes.”

“You can keep your last name,” Steve shrugged. He had been working so hard lately to pass off as a real fashion designer that he had almost forgotten you were going to marry Bucky. He fought against the urge to rip that stupid drawing in half.

“I know,” you said, “it’s just… a little weird, but in a good way.”

A knock at the door made you both jump. Natasha and Scott were back, and judging by the look on Natasha’s face, she must have received some good news.

“We posted that picture of the two of you giggling,” Scott said with a big smile. “People on Instagram are so kinky. You guys should read some of the comments, they’re priceless.”

“Scott,” Natasha said, her tone warning him to drop it.

“It’s crazy, some people even ship you two together. They want you to marry Mr America. That’s his nickname, Mr America! How cool is that?!”

Oh, that couldn’t be good… You really hoped Bucky wouldn’t read these comments. He wasn’t a big fan of social media, and he was too busy to even open the app. Though Sam would definitely call him if he read anything that seemed a little odd.

“Is that the dress?” Natasha asked as she picked up the sketch pad. Her eyes widened for a second before she smiled at Steve. “It’s beautiful. I look forward to seeing it on the bride.”

Steve’s secretary entered the room and informed him that his next appointment had arrived. He shook hands with Natasha and Scott, then turned to you, smiling hesitantly. A handshake seemed too formal, but he wasn’t sure you’d let him hug you.

He opened his arms to you and cocked his head to one side in silent question. You found his bashfulness endearing. He looked so young. You took a step forward to hug him.

“Thank you, Steve, for everything,” you said, making sure Natasha and Scott couldn’t hear you. Steve was warm and muscular, and yet incredibly soft. “You didn’t have to do all this. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I found you,” he replied before releasing you. “I’ll see you soon.”

“The magazine’s throwing a party next month,” Natasha began as Steve walked the three of you to the door. “Our numbers are skyrocketing. This calls for a celebration. I’ll send you the details. It’ll be the biggest party of the year.”

When you got back to the waiting room, the secretary told you that Steve’s chauffeur would drive you and your colleagues to your apartments. You took a seat and tried to process what had just happened.

Natasha looked ecstatic, and you couldn’t understand why you felt so miserable. You needed to be alone with your thoughts.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you told Natasha who nodded distractedly.

The waiting room was nicely furnished with comfortable leather sofas, fashion magazines on the marble tables –your magazine was on top of the pile- and a fancy water dispenser near the restroom.

You grabbed a cup and filled it with room temperature water, sipping it slowly as you looked around the room.

“Braceface!”

You felt a shiver come down your spine, the sound of his voice was like having your entire body dunked into ice cold water. He moved into your line of sight, a bright smile on his face. Had he always looked this terrifying?

“Hi, Brock.”

“So you remember me,” he said with a sickening smile, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. “Sweet.” He paused. “I heard you were getting married.”

“Yeah.”

“If you ever get bored,” he said, stepping into your personal space and handing you his business card. “I love married women, they’re so desperate for a good time.”

You felt trapped, like the day he had cornered you in Steve’s kitchen and asked if you wanted to have sex with him. You could feel the fear building up inside you.

You obediently took the card, your body automatically kicking in to self-preservation mode.  _Do what he says and he’ll leave you alone_.

This part of the waiting room was hidden from view, meaning no one could see you right now. Brock had no shame, coming after you like that even though he knew you were getting married.

You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t move.

“Step away from her.”

You couldn’t see her, but Natasha’s voice held authority as she stood behind Brock with a seemingly calm demeanour. Brock took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“We were just talking,” he said.

She didn’t even spare him a glance. She searched your face for any sign of pain “You okay?” You nodded, not noticing the tear falling down your cheek. “We’re done here.”

She took a step forward and slung her arm around your shoulders, shielding your body with hers as you moved past Brock. You felt your heartbeat slowly returning to normal as Natasha ushered you toward the elevator.

You slowly came back to your senses, feeling a little embarrassed that you were –once again- the damsel in distress.

“That guy’s a dickhead,” Scott said, glaring daggers at Brock’s retreating figure.

“That guy is the co-founder of the brand, and a big name in the fashion industry,” Natasha mumbled, pressing the ground floor button. “He’s also a notorious creep. I’ll make sure we won’t run into him again.”

“You gonna have him whacked?” Scott asked, his eyes widening.

Natasha crunched up her face, clearly grossed out and confused. “No! I’m going to schedule our meetings at a different time.  _Have him whacked_ ,” she repeated with a scoff. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s just the way you said it,” Scott shrugged, “it sounded ominous.”

The elevator door slid closed while Natasha and Scott were bickering, but you weren’t listening to them. You wanted to go home.

You wanted Bucky to hold you close and snuggle with you for the rest of the day. But, more than anything, you wanted to know why Brock  _fucking_  Rumlow was still working with Steve.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this chapter :) It's angst bucky x reader and fluff steve x reader! (also reader has a small anxiety attack in this chapter)

 

_7:36 p.m._

Trying to calm yourself down, you took a deep breath. You could feel your anger bubbling up inside you. You had been waiting on your kitchen stool for over thirty minutes, and your patience was running thin.

You picked up your phone and sent a quick message to your father-in-law, telling him you were going to be late. He replied with a thumbs up emoji.

It didn’t surprise you that Bucky was late to his own engagement dinner, but you still wished he had made an effort.

You locked your phone when you heard him coming up the stairs. You watched as he dropped his bag near the coat rack and threw his keys on the kitchen table. They landed close to your phone.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” Bucky said.

He grabbed the hem of his Henley and yanked it over his head, throwing it on the floor. You stayed quiet and kept your eyes trained on your phone. It annoyed you that this was all he had to say. A simple pathetic apology.

“You remember Sitwell, one of the head chefs? They fired him today, and now they’re looking for a new head chef. Doll, I think I have a real chance here. I mean, your magazine is basically promoting my restaurant for free. My bosses love that!” He toed off his shoes and quickly unbuttoned his jeans. “I’m gonna take a shower. You can order an Uber, I won’t be long.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower. You opened the app and ordered the car, fighting back tears. You were tired of coming second.

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes late. Bucky’s parents and sister were already seated, a pitcher of margaritas and some appetizers sat on the table. You apologized for being late and took a seat next to Bucky’s mother.

“I thought your parents were joining us,” Winnie said, sipping her drink.

“They’re on holidays,” you replied, shrugging off your jacket.

“Good for them!” she cheered as her husband filled up your empty glass.

You traded your full glass for Bucky’s empty one. “No alcohol for me,” you said, pouring water into your glass. Bucky’s younger sister looked at you with a funny expression. You mentally rolled your eyes. “I’m not pregnant, I just don’t want to drink.”

You were in a sour mood, which unfortunately happened quite frequently these days. Between work, planning the wedding –without Bucky because he always had too much work- and trying not to strangle Natasha who was your unofficial wedding planner, you really needed a goddamn break.

Bucky must have sensed something was wrong because he was suddenly a lot more attentive. He tried to reach across the table to touch you, but you quickly moved your hand away.

You weren’t looking at him, though you could feel his sad puppy dog eyes on you. You purposely focused on what his father was saying. Bucky’s eyes were your weakness, but you weren’t ready to forgive him. He had to realise he had hurt you.

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, um I’m sorry we’re late. It’s my fault.”

“Something happen at work?” Georges asked with furrowed brows.

“No, nothing important,” Bucky quickly replied, trying to meet your eyes. You relented and glanced at him. “Nothing important,” he repeated, his voice soft.

He extended his hand across the table and you barely hesitated before giving him your own. He smiled at you, mouthing the words  _‘I love you’_.

“How’s the wedding coming along?” Winnie asked with a bright smile. “You know, I read all the articles in your magazine. I really like them, it’s basically a  _how to plan your own wedding_ series. I wish it had been a thing when we got engaged.”

“It would have saved us a lot of headaches,” George agreed.

You and Bucky stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. They didn’t seem to notice the growing tension, and you didn’t want to be the one complaining that planning a wedding was hard work no matter who was there to help you.

Millions of people were waiting for your wedding. It was completely nerve-wracking.

Rebecca leaned across the table and grabbed a mozzarella stick. “I love awkward silences,” she said with a cocky smile.

You all laughed, diffusing the tension. “It’s coming along fine,” you answered Winnie’s question. “We’re not allowed to say much, we signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“But we’re the groom’s parents,” Winnie complained, “and the ceremony is happening in our backyard.” George threw her a glance, silently telling her to drop the subject. “Okay fine,” she mouthed, “but that’s not fair.”

Despite the lingering tension, dinner went rather smoothly. No one asked you any prying questions. You told Winnie and Rebecca that you had an appointment to try on the muslin dress Steve had made for you. Rebecca also had to try on her bridesmaid dress. They were both excited to share this moment with you.

You and Bucky were quiet on the drive home. When you finally got home, you undressed quietly and prepared for bed. You felt Bucky’s arms wrap around you from behind. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and breathed in deeply. You let yourself melt against his chest.

“Am I in trouble?” he mumbled against your neck, his lips finding the tender spot behind your ear.

You sighed. “It depends. I’m busting my ass planning this wedding, but it seems like you’re already married to your job.” You turned in his arms to face him. “Who is it going to be? Me or your job?”

“I want what’s best for you,” he said, holding you tight. “I need money to give yo-”

“Answer the question,” you pressed. “Me or your job?”

He looked at you with a pained expression. You wondered what was going on through his mind. Bucky was hard to read sometimes.

“It’s you,” he finally said, “always you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, the tension slowly draining from your body. Arching against him, you kissed him hard on the lips. “Then prove it,” you whispered against his mouth, “come with me to the party next week. Take a day off.”

Bucky craned his neck toward the ceiling and sighed. He stayed quiet, pondering your words.

If he wanted to be the new head chef, he had to keep working hard. But ironically, the only reason he had been working so hard was so he could give you a better life. It didn’t make sense to keep working himself to death if you weren’t with him anymore.

Unfortunately, Saturdays were the most hectic days at the restaurant.

“I’m not allowed to take my Saturday off,” he told you, smiling sadly when your face fell. “But I’ll ask someone to trade shifts with me. I’ll be there before eleven.” He looked you in the eye, making sure you knew this was not an empty promise. “We’ll dance and laugh and drink. All night long.”

Your face broke into a shy smile. This wasn’t perfect, but it was a fair compromise. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

“It’s going to be the best party ever,” you said.

*

“This party sucks.”

Scott turned and leaned his back against the bar, surveying the deserted dance floor. He hummed in agreement as you blew out a frustrated breath.

People had started gathering at around eight but the music was garbage, and even the open bar wasn’t enough to make the guests stay. It was a Saturday night in New York, they still had time to find another party.

“It’s 11 o’clock and I’m at a party.” Steve appeared out of nowhere. “It’s so cool.”

“It’s 11 o’clock and people are leaving,” Scott said, cocking a brow. Steve’s enthusiasm was a little odd. He was celebrity after all, this shouldn’t faze him. “It’s a disaster.”

You spotted Nick and Natasha walking across the dance floor with scowls on their faces.

“Here comes trouble,” you mumbled to your friends as your bosses approached your corner.

“Where’s Barnes?” Natasha asked.

“He shouldn’t be long,” you replied after checking your phone. “He had to work tonight.”

Nick looked around the room and slowly shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. Most of the guests are gone.” He waved the bartender over and ordered a shot. “Is it me? Do I smell? Do I have bad breath?”

You, Scott and Natasha didn’t say anything. You all knew he wasn’t expecting an answer, he just needed to vent. The party must have been incredibly expensive and it was a complete disaster.

To your horror, Steve started leaning toward Nick, sniffing the air around him. Natasha looked at him as if he were crazy.

“No, you smell nice,” Steve said.

“Really,” Nick continued, his jaw ticking, “because people seem to be running for the exit like someone set off a stink bomb.”

“I don’t smell anything.” Steve looked at him with a confused puppy look on his face.

Scott bit back a laugh. “I think he means the party is a stinker. A dud. A flop. A zero on a scale of one to ten.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.

“Maybe if somebody played something else,” Steve said, nodding toward the DJ. “Something with a melody.”

Nick cut him off. “Play whatever you want. All I know is if those people don’t start dancing really, really soon…” He promptly raised his shot glass. “Here’s to early retirement.”

Nick grimaced as the amber liquid rolled down his throat. Steve cocked his head to one side as he observed the man digging in the record bin behind the turntables. An idea formed in his mind and, with a lopsided grin, he started making his way toward the dance floor.

“Steve,” you called after him. You remembered that smile too well. He was about to do something stupid.

The four of you watched as Steve neared the DJ. They spoke for a brief moment, though you were too far away to hear what they were saying. Then Steve turned around and, as he reached the middle of the dance floor, an upbeat music filled the room.

You frowned. The song was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Steve addressed the small crowd with a shy wave, but all he got in return were blank stares. He took a deep, calming breath and started moving to the beat.

**This is something new, the Casper slide part two  
** Featuring the platinum band, and this time…  
We’re gonna get funky 

_Oh, no_

Your eyes widened in horror as you recognized the song.  _The Cha Cha Slide_. You hadn’t heard that song in years. It reminded you of your childhood, of the times in middle school when you had been going to slumber parties.

The dance in itself was really simple, you just had to follow the lyrics.

People were snickering as they watched Steve dance. He felt incredibly stupid, alone on the dance floor. He met your eyes and silently pleaded with you to join him.

You shook your head. “No, absolutely not!” you said in a loud whisper.

“Please,” Steve mouthed back.

**Turn it out, to the left  
** Take it back now y'all   
One hop this time 

Steve took the lyrics as his cue to hop toward you like a bunny. You tried to hide behind Scott, but that idiot pushed you forward. Steve grabbed your hands and tried to pull you towards him.

“C’mon, please,” he begged.

“I haven’t done this in over ten years.”

“It’s the Cha Cha Slide, he literally tells you what to do,” Steve shouted over the music.

He led you to the dance floor, and you found yourself paralysed. Everyone was staring at you. You tried to follow Steve’s lead, but you just felt too ridiculous. He encouraged you to keep dancing and you did your best not to bolt out of the room.

**Slide to the left, slide to the right  
Crisscross, crisscross**

In a synchronized movement, you both jumped and crossed your right foot over your left, then did it again. You looked at each other and laughed.

“All right, here we go!” you shouted, smiling brightly.

Despite your embarrassment, you were starting to really enjoy this. More people joined in. You saw Scott take Natasha’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Natasha playfully rolled her eyes as she begrudgingly agreed to follow him.

The song ended too fast for your liking. You were feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Another song came on, a popular song from the 80s’, and everyone cheered.

“You’re a genius,” you shouted over the music, taking Steve’s hand and letting him twirl you into his arms. “That was so much fun! You have some great moves, Rogers! I didn’t know you could still do the limbo. That was impressive!”

Steve blushed and took a step away from you, running his hand through his hair with a sheepish grin. He looked at something over your shoulder, and grinned. The cheers of the crowd caught your attention.

You turned around and saw Nick doing the moonwalk. You were never going to be able to look him in the eye again.

It was after midnight when you finally stopped dancing and took a break. You ordered a drink and checked the time on your phone.

_00:20 a.m._

_No new messages._

You frowned, and looked around for Bucky. He should have been here by now. The room was absolutely crowded, and you thought that perhaps he was still looking for you.

You took your drink and moved to a quiet spot near the restroom where you called Bucky. He didn’t pick up. You left him a message, saying that you were at the bar waiting for him. You also sent him a text with the same information.

You waited another thirty minutes, frequently checking your phone, but Bucky hadn’t tried to contact you.

It was now 1 a.m. and you were getting a little worried. You tried not to panic, after all Bucky was always late so it was probably nothing.

You went outside and called the restaurant, thinking that maybe he was still working. The call went straight to voicemail, and you knew it was because the restaurant was closed and the team had left the building.

You remembered that Shuri was working with Bucky tonight, she had even agreed to trade shifts with him. You called her, but all she could tell you was that he had left just before eleven o’clock.

“There you are!” Steve’s voice made you jump. His smile dropped as he met your frightened eyes. “Something wrong?”

“I can’t find Bucky,” you said. “He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know what to do.”

Steve’s expression changed. He looked around, as if doing so would make Bucky appear out of nowhere. The lump in his throat dropped into his stomach like a lead ball.

Steve’s silence made you even more nervous.

“I don’t know where he is,” you cried. “What if something happened to him on the way here?”

Your legs buckled and Steve was at your side in an instant, holding you upright. You were panting, your eyes unfocused. He had had enough panic attacks to recognize the symptoms.

He held your gaze, and drew in a deep breath through his nose before releasing it slowly through his mouth. Calming breaths, you recognised the technique. You breathed in tandem until your heartbeat returned to normal.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, mustering up a half smile. “I’m going to drop you off at home. You’ll stay there in case Bucky comes home, and meanwhile I’ll look for him. Okay?”

You nodded, letting yourself smile a little.

*

You tried calling Bucky one last time while you climbed the stairs to your apartment. He didn’t answer and you left yet another voicemail. You begged him to call you back as soon he got your messages.

You fumbled with the lock, your nerves made your hands shake, and finally got it open. You leaned one hand against the wall for support as you bent down to remove your high heels.

“Did you have fun?”

Bucky’s deep voice startled you. You hurriedly searched for the nearby switch to turn on the lights. He was sitting at the kitchen counter with a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him.

“You’re home,” you said, releasing a relieved breath. “I tried to call you like ten times.” You noticed that his phone was next to the bottle. “Why didn’t you answer? I was worried.”

Scoffing under his breath, Bucky reached for the bottle of whiskey. “You were worried? When? When Steve was twirling you around or when you were giggling against his chest?”

You frowned at him. Bucky had seen you dance with Steve, he’d seen the two of you laugh and have fun. It could only mean one thing.

“You came to the party,” you concluded out loud.

“Yeah, nice solve, Sherlock.”

“You’re drunk,” you chastised.

“And you’re cheating on me,” Bucky shouted, slamming the bottle on the counter.

You held his accusatory stare for as long as you could stand it, then bent your head and swallowed the lump in your throat. That was a low blow and completely unjustified. Sometimes his insecurities got the best of him. Especially when he was drunk.

It was pointless to argue with him right now. You swallowed your frustration and anger as best you could before you raised your head.

“You’re drunk, I’m not having this conversation tonight,” you said as you crossed the room. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

At least he didn’t protest.

You grabbed the handle of the Murphy bed that leaned against the wall, and pulled it down. You took your phone and typed a quick text to Steve.

_I found Bucky. He’s at home, drunk, but safe. Thank you for what you did tonight. You’re a good man._

His answer came a few seconds later.  _I’m relieved. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Goodnight!_

You were getting ready for bed, but your brain was rehearsing the upcoming argument you would soon have with Bucky.

You got even more upset because you couldn’t calm down. Bucky was still sitting at the counter, staring off into space. You didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

Your apartment was a tiny studio, you couldn’t isolate yourself. And even though you hated his guts, you didn’t want to throw Bucky out of the house. He wasn’t sober enough to take a cab or even walk. Besides, Sam would be upset if Bucky showed up drunk at his door in the middle of the night.

You stared at your trainers closely, calculating your next move. You felt as though you were suffocating, stuck between two men and a wedding, and unable to move forward because you wanted to please everyone.

You had to get out of the apartment.

You quickly slipped your feet into her trainers and headed for the front door. Bucky’s tired eyes were focused on you as you took your jacket and keys.

“Where you goin?” he slurred.

“Out,” you said before you closed the door behind you.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Three loud bangs came from the corridor. Steve buried his face into his pillow and tried to block out the sound. He had only been home a few hours, and he intended to sleep all day because it was Sunday and he had nothing to do.

When the knocking continued, Steve looked over his shoulder and mumbled a curse. Begrudgingly, he rolled out of bed and padded to the front door. He had no intention to let them into the apartment, so he went shirtless.

“Bucky?” Steve croaked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Is she here?”

“Who?” Steve asked, leaning on the door frame for support. It was way too early and he just wanted to go back to sleep. “I live alone, Buck.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. “Don’t call me that. We’re not friends.” They stared at one another until Bucky gave a short sigh. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I just want to know where my _fiancée_ is.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, confused.

He let Bucky into the apartment and closed the door behind him. Bucky looked around the pristine living room as though he expected you to appear out of thin air.

“I dropped her off at your apartment earlier tonight,” Steve continued. “We were looking for you. Then I got a text from her. She said you were home. What’s going on?”

Bucky flopped down on a sofa and cradled his head in his hands. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With an air of defeat, he let his hands drop and gazed at Steve.

“I fucked up.”

Steve crossed the room and sat next to Bucky. He studied his friend carefully, his gaze sliding over his features as though he was trying to read his mind.

Bucky’s naturally pale complexion had taken on a ghastly ashen hue, and there were dark bags under his eyes. The smell of alcohol and sweat assaulted Steve’s nose. Seeing his friend in such a fragile state was almost too much for him.

He could easily guess what had happened, though he didn’t press Bucky for answers. This was between him and you.

“She left in the middle of the night. She didn’t take her cell phone or wallet. And I’m trying to remember what she was wearing, but I can’t,” Bucky cried, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m fucking terrified.”

A similar feeling took root in Steve’s guts. “Let’s not panic,” he said. “She probably went to a friend’s house.”

Bucky ran a hand down his face. “She kept in touch with her friends from college but most of them are not in New York anymore. She gets along well with Scott but I don’t know if she considers him a friend.”

Steve forced his teenage brain to focus as he tried to find a solution that was responsible and helpful. It felt as though their roles were reversed. When they were younger, Steve was the helpless idiot who always found himself in trouble and Bucky was the one who saved his ass.

It made him realize just how difficult it must have been to be his friend. It had never occurred to him that his reckless and immature behaviour had deeply impacted his friends. And that was before he screwed things up.

“Buck,” Steve spoke quietly. Bucky was too exhausted to be upset about the nickname again. “We need to calm down, and you should rest. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky grumbled. “I need to know she’s not in danger.”

It was pointless to argue with Bucky. “At least let me come with you.”

Bucky turned his head to look at Steve, considering his request. He observed him closely, then seemed to come to a silent decision. “I’d throw on a shirt if I were you.”

Steve beamed at him, his cheeks turning red when he glanced at his own naked torso. Yes, he should change out of his pyjamas.

Steve left the room to get dressed, leaving Bucky alone in the living room. When he came back, Bucky was fast asleep on the couch. He didn’t have the heart to wake him.

*

The sun wasn’t up yet when you arrived at your destination. You had walked all the way from the train station, hugging the denim jacket around you for protection and for warmth.

Leaving home in the middle of the night in nothing but your little black dress and a thin jacket hadn’t been one of your most brilliant moves. It had been stupid and dangerous, and you thanked your lucky stars you were safe.

Two birds were happily chirping in a tree nearby, and with a sad sigh, you rang the doorbell. While you waited, you turned around and watched the sun rise above the line of trees.

A brand new day…

“Kid?”

Hearing George’s voice brought tears to your eyes. You clenched your jaw, holding them in. This was bound to happen; you were too tired, too emotionally distraught. You didn’t even know what to say.

You turned to face him and forced a smile to your lips. Another wave of tears blurred your vision when you realized he was wearing his  _‘I’m your father’_  sweatshirt, the one Bucky had given him for his birthday.

He looked so much like Bucky, and right now you weren’t even sure you and Bucky would grow old together.

As George’s eyes adjusted to the light, he took in your appearance. Your cocktail dress and your denim jacket, your tearful eyes and your faded makeup. He drew his own conclusions.

“Pancakes?” he asked, opening the door wider.

“Yes,” you sobbed and pulled him into a hug, surprising him.

Winnie wandered down the stairs to see what all the fuss was about, and found her husband in front of the door, gingerly hugging you. She looked confused, her eyebrows arched high. He gave her an almost imperceptible shrug.

While you used the bathroom to freshen up, George told his wife he’d handle this on his own. He loved his wife dearly but she wasn’t subtle. You were obviously in a fragile state and he didn’t want her to bombard you with question after question.

She agreed that it was probably a smart idea. Though she made him promise to tell her everything later.

You almost cried again when you saw the clothes Winnie had picked out. Bucky’s old  _‘I got my ion you’_ shirt was too big for you. It was one of those strangely designed shirts that never fit anyone. Bucky had won it at a fair when you were younger, and only kept it because the pun made him laugh.

You sat at the kitchen table and smiled gratefully at George as he placed a plate in front of you. You looked at the stack of pancakes with an eager smile. They were covered in syrup and George had even used chocolate chips to make a smiley face.

It made you smile.

“Do you want some sliced strawberries? They’re from our garden.”

You nodded, and immediately took a sip from the steaming mug he handed you. You picked up your fork and cut into the stack of pancakes.

They were delicious, soft and buttery and with a hint of caramel with overtones of toffee. It brought back memories of your childhood as vivid and real as if they were happening right now. Small Steve and chubby Bucky with crust in their eyes sitting at the kitchen table after a sleepover.

You missed those days.

You forced yourself back to the present and watched as George took a seat across from you. You swallowed your mouthful and watched him curiously. He gave you a small, encouraging smile.

“Bucky and I had a fight.”

“I figured as much.”

“We’re going through a tough time.” With a sigh, you placed your fork on the edge of your plate. “Lately I’ve been feeling like things are only going to get worse. I don’t know how to explain it.”

You chanced a glance at George, hoping he could read your mind. How do you tell your soon-to-be father-in-law that planning this wedding was ruining your relationship? He seemed to get the gist of it.

“You tried talking to Bucky?” George asked calmly, taking a sip of cranberry juice.

“George,” you sighed, feeling the sting of tears in your nose. “Three years ago, when he proposed, I told Bucky I didn’t want a big fancy wedding but he insisted. He said I deserved the best.”

“It’s sweet.”

“Yeah, it is,” you agreed. “But he’s working himself to death, trying to give me something I don’t want just because he thinks I deserve it. And because of that, he’s always late, he constantly cancels our plans and he’s never home before eleven. I hardly see him.”

“He’s a bit clumsy, I suppose,” George said, “but at least he’s trying.”

You shrugged. “He promised he’d take a day off once in a while, but that never happened. He’s really good at making empty promises though.”

Not knowing what to say, George took another sip of juice. He felt responsible for the way Bucky had turned out.

They had put a lot of pressure on him as a kid; telling him to work hard, to be helpful around the house, to watch out for his little sister, to make sure Steve didn’t get hurt or to never let you walk home alone.

All this forged Bucky’s adult identity. They hadn’t meant to turn him into a ball of anxiety but they were proud of their son. He was ambitious, caring and passionate. But he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders ever since he was a little boy.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” George said, then wagged his index finger at you. “No more wandering off in the middle of the night.”

You smiled. “Yeah, don’t worry about that. It’s not something I want to experience again.”

“Does Bucky know you’re here?”

“No, I was upset, I forgot my purse.” You nervously bit your bottom lip. “Can you tell him I’m here?”

“Of course,” he said with a smile, then he put his hand on top of yours and nodded toward your plate. “Now finish your breakfast.”

*

Steve was watching the Sunday-morning cartoons when Bucky’s phone buzzed on the sofa. He put his bowl of cereal down on the marble table and shook his friend awake. Bucky stared at him, bleary-eyed, then took his phone.

He jumped off the couch and yelled  _‘thanks’_ as he darted out the door. Steve returned to his breakfast with a lopsided grin.

Bucky’s first thought was to go straight to the train station but after receiving a few strange looks from passersby, he decided to go home to take a shower. He hailed a cab to Grand Central Terminal and took the train to Port Chester station.

By the time he got to his parents’ house, he was a nervous wreck. He felt his breath catch in his throat, his stomach curdling with fading adrenaline. He could see you through the kitchen window, sitting on top of the picnic table, your back facing him.

Before he could take a step toward the backdoor, his father told him to take a seat at the kitchen table. Reluctantly, Bucky sat down in the empty seat and listened to his father’s lecture.

Bucky kept glancing over his shoulder, making sure you were still in the backyard. His knee bounced up and down, his heart beating in expectation of seeing you.

Finally his father gave him a final warning, or advice, Bucky wasn’t sure: “Don’t screw up.”

Taking a deep breath, he opened the backdoor and closed it behind him. The air smelled flowery and warm, and with a little hint of charcoal. The gravel crunched under his feet as he made his way to your side.

“Hey,” Bucky said. You were wearing his nerdy shirt and that brought a smile to his face.

You glanced furtively at him. “Hey.”

He sat next to you, setting his feet on the bench. You both stayed quiet, keeping your attention focused on the honeysuckle vines that covered the back wall.

“Thank you for the text,” he suddenly said.

“Sure,” you replied with what you hoped was a casual shrug, “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“How did you get here?”

“I had a twenty in my bra,” you said with a grin. “I put it in there just in case we were drunk and wanted to take a cab home. Ended up using it to buy a train ticket.”

Your words felt like a knife stabbing into his heart. A reminder that he had let you down… again. “I’m sorry I missed the party.”

You cut him off before he could say another word. “You didn’t miss the party, you left because you were jealous. And I bet you went straight to  _his_  apartment when you realized I was gone.” His silent was answer enough. You scoffed. “By the way, how’s the hangover?”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s fine.” He turned his body toward you. “I really screwed up, uh?”

“Yup,” you deadpanned, unable to look at him.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “So this is it?” he asked, his voice quivering with emotion. “It’s over.”

“It’d be pretty shitty if our relationship ended where it started,” you said, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. You smiled at each other. The knot in Bucky’s chest loosened a bit.

“Thanksgiving 2010,” he sighed dreamily. “We were sitting right here on that table. I asked you if you were cold, you said  _‘yes’_  so I wrapped my arm around you. Then you laughed at me because I had a bit of pumpkin custard on my cheek.”

You giggled as the memory played out in your head. The sound made Bucky’s heart soar. God, he loved you.

“And then you kissed me,” he said with an air of finality.

You turned to face him fully. “What? Nu-uh,  _you_  kissed  _me_.”

He shook his head, amused. “Nope, I remember it like it was yesterday. You leaned toward me-”

“To clean your cheek. You looked like an idiot,” you cut him off, laughing. “And that’s when you kissed me.”

He smiled at you. “Okay, maybe. But you kissed me back.”

“I did.”

You kept eye contact, smiling shyly at each other. You still loved him, he could see it clearly in your eyes. There was still hope. You made his world feel lighter and brighter. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I-I worry I won’t be a good husband.”

Saying it at loud felt simultaneously liberating and terrifying. The words hung between you, making the air heavy with their weight. You see the start of tears in his eyes.

“The only example I have is my dad,” he continued. “And also Jack Pearson but he’s fictional. I try to be like them. I try to be supportive, caring, reliable, but I feel like the harder I try, the worse it gets. I keep making you miserable, and I fucking hate myself, y’know?”

There was a faint tremor in his voice that he tried to mask but you knew him too well. A tear ran down his cheek and he wiped it away, not embarrassed but feeling painfully vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry,” he spoke quietly. “This was supposed to be my apology to you, and I’m turning this into a pity party.”

You rested your hand on top of his. “It’s okay, Bucky. Your feelings matter, and I’m glad you’re telling me this. You’re going to be an amazing husband because you care. I don’t need a knight in shining armor, I need a partner. We need to work together as a team.”

“Do you still want to marry me?”

“At this point I put too much energy into this wedding not to marry someone,” you said, your voice slightly teasing. “Right now I think I’m going to marry Natasha, she’s been really helpful.”

Bucky hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry you had to do this without me.”

“I’m exhausted, Bucky,” you said with a sigh. “There are so many shades of white. What the fuck is alabaster? And there’s also pearl, cream, ivory, porcelain, egg shell, rice, frost, coconut, and you look at them and you think  _‘what’s the big deal, it’s white’_  but it’s not fucking white. Nothing is white anymore!”

Bucky slid closer to you, scared by your sudden outburst and the crazed look in your eyes. His large hand started to rub soothing circles across your back. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Just breathe, sweetheart.”

When your breathing returned to normal, you lifted your head to look at him. “You know what the worst part is?” He shook his head. “It’s the same with every colour. Like your eyes, they used to be blue but now they’re sapphire with a touch of teal.”

He smiled at you, the fondness in his eyes tinged with sadness. He couldn’t help but laugh softly, kissing your temple when you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I love you, but I can’t keep going on like this,” you said. “We barely see each other. I don’t care how much money you make. We don’t need a fancy wedding or a big apartment. I don’t want that. I just need you.”

“I just need you,” he repeated your words like a mantra. Closing his eyes, he tightened his arm around you and pressed you against his side.

He made a silent promise to himself, and to you, that he would never take you for granted. You needed him and he needed you, the rest was just an added bonus. He tried to remember that.

It was time to put the past completely behind him, it was time to make peace with Steve Rogers.


End file.
